


Helpless

by WordsAblaze



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Pepper Potts, Bad Science, Blood, Branding, But it's there, Caning, Clinging, Crying, Domestic Fluff, Electrocution, Escape, Eventual Fluff, Gags, Gen, Handcuffs, Hugs, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, I'd make a terrible doctor, Inaccurate injury info, Insecure Tony Stark, Irondad, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Knives, Lots of Angst, Malnutrition, Memory Loss, More hurt less comfort, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Nightmares, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Punishment, Recovery, Rescue, Sensory Deprivation, Spiders, Tags Are Hard, Temporary Blindness, The fluff is at risk, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Whump, Torture, Unconsciousness, Violence, Whump, angsty fluff, be wary of tags, father-son bonding in the form of crying, i make no sense, i tried so hard, implied interwebs, it's a revenge kidnapping, it's gonna be a bit violent, spiderson, unobvious memory loss, unreliable science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAblaze/pseuds/WordsAblaze
Summary: Somebody wants revenge on Tony but, this time, they think the best way to do that is to hurt both him and Peter, keeping them close enough to feel one another's pain but too far apart to prevent it, and they're not wrong... Enjoy!





	1. Blood In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, I needed some angst, you know? It's been done so many times but I'm doing it anyway :)

Tony's head is driving him mad.

Not his brain, either. It's his head that feels like it's swimming, which means he'd been drugged, just what he needed to ruin the week he'd planned to spend with his son- uh, intern, his intern.

He goes to rub his head but his hands don't move, an obvious clue that he's been tied down, again. Sighing to himself, he finally pays attention to his surroundings and notices he's in a dimly-lit square of a room, sat on a metal chair with metal straps around his wrists and ankles. It's uncomfortable and cold and clearly designed for long-term use.

The world is still blurry and he can't see more than a few centimetres in any direction so he doesn't know if he has company or not. Clearly, this room is designed to confuse whoever is placed inside, which probably makes it more useful for getting information out of people.

Great.

The last thing he needs is someone taking him hostage or getting revenge or whatever else excuse they seem to be making these days. He's not even scared anymore, he's just utterly fed up of being stuck in a position where he doesn't have the tiniest amount of control.

"Mister Stark?"

Scratch that.

He's scared.

He's so scared.

"Pete?" He asks, hoping nobody replies and that he'd been imagining things. Madness, or anything else really, would be preferable to his kid - his intern, he's just his intern - being here too.

"I'd hope so. Mister Stark, are you alright? You've been out for hours!"

Hours? It takes him a minute to remember Peter's enhanced metabolism would reduce the effect of drugs. He kicks himself for taking so long to regain consciousness and leaving the teenager to try and cope by himself, the only silver lining being that the dark reduces any chances of sensory overload.

"You've been alone for hours?" He asks, hating the very idea.

He hears a small, nervous chuckle. "There was a man who came in before but he got tired of my voice so he left."

Tony's eyes narrow at that. He'd left? He can't remember even one kidnapper who'd ever left the room instead of gagging him when he'd annoyed them but there has to be something he's missing.

"And now I'm here," someone announces, clearly having been in the room for a while because Tony hadn't heard any doors open. So that's what he'd been missing...

"Who are you? What do you want?" Tony demands immediately, squinting at the gloom and struggling to locate the source of the voice.

"Having trouble seeing?" the voice mocks. Tony holds in his sarcasm, listening out for anything that can help them. He shuts his eyes after a few seconds of silence, still hearing nothing... Until Peter gasps.

His eyes fly open, his limbs automatically straining to get free. "What are you doing? Leave him alone!"

"I'm okay, Mister Stark, really," Peter says, his voice a little strained but not hinting at any injuries. Tony dimly wonders if Peter can still see him, considering that his eyesight is far more advanced.

"Who are you?" Tony asks, less demanding this time.

"Someone whose mentor you'll regret killing," they reply, followed by Peter crying out, stifling it too late for Tony not to hear.

"Pete? Kid, what's happened, what's wrong?" Tony asks, trying not to panic but panicking anyway.

"Enjoy the darkness," the voice says. Footsteps echo and a door opens to the left of Tony, letting a tiny amount of light in.

He'd usually look outside the door to try and figure out where he is but he chooses to look around for Peter instead, realising they're opposite each other and catching what he thinks is a glimpse of blood on Peter's neck before the light fades once more.

Tony groans in frustration. "Are you bleeding?"

"It's not deep," Peter replies.

But he is bleeding. Tony wants to punch something. Or someone. Or himself. He can't do any of those, though, because he's tied up and still a little drowsy.

"Mister Stark?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Thanks for wanting to spend time with me. And for the ice-cream! I never- would never have thought strawberry went so well with mint chocolate chip, you really are a genius! Maybe you can get a PhD in ice-cream? Is that a thing? Probably not, huh? We'll have to, uh, try more when we get out of here! I'm sorry I didn't-"

"You are not apologising to me right now," Tony interrupts. He knows Peter is babbling because he's scared and he wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and assure him everything is alright but he can't move, he can't help, he can't do a single thing and he's never felt more useless.

Peter starts to chuckle but it must aggravate his injury because he cuts himself off, leaving the two of them in an uncomfortable silence Tony wishes he could shatter.

"Did he mention his name?" Tony asks after a while, the silence pressing down on him.

"No."

There's something wrong with Peter's answer but Tony can't place it. He puts it down to Peter being injured but a bad feeling settles in his stomach, weighing him down even more than the cold seeping out of the metal around his wrists. The sound of their breathing is the only thing to fill the air after that, neither of them wanting to talk since they don't know who's watching them.

Tony's on the brink of exploding with anticipation when the door opens again and he takes the opportunity to glance over Peter for any injuries, finding a shallow cut next to his left collarbone but nothing too serious. Yet.

"Who knows you're missing?" The man demands, leaving the door open as he walks to stand beside Peter again.

"Nobody should know," Tony answers, trying to divert the man's attention back to him.

"Then why are you being tracked?"

When the man sees Peter look as confused as a toddler being taught astrophysics, he turns to Tony with a smirk. "It's you, then?"

Tony bites his lip. Of course, he has a tracker in his arm. He'd hoped they wouldn't notice but, whoever they are, they seem to be more intelligent than they're letting on.

The man cracks his knuckles and smoothly pulls a pocket knife out of his back pocket, making it seem like he's repeated the action hundreds of times, as you do. Peter's eyes widen in distress but Tony shakes his head, catching his gaze.

"Peter, look at me. It's okay."

"I wouldn't be so sure," the man says as he takes a step forward, "now, where's the tracker?"

Tony's tempted to give them the wrong location so the others have more time but he doesn't want Peter to see the consequences of that so he sighs in defeat. "Upper left arm."

"Mister Stark?" Peter's voice is full of dread. Tony doesn't know if he should be touched that Peter cares so much about him or if he should be guilty of letting anyone - especially a sensitive teenager - care enough to hate him getting hurt.

"Peter, keep your eyes on mine," Tony orders as forcefully as he can. He knows what it looks like to dig out a tracker and Peter definitely does not need to see that, he definitely does not want Peter to have to watch that.

"Yes, Mister Stark," Peter manages as the man pushes the usually warm metal into Tony's skin.

He can see the temptation to look at what the man's doing burning in Peter's eyes as he feels the blood running down his arm. He tries not to wince at the sharp pain and the way the man seems to use the knife as a torch to try and locate the tracker. It's a manageable feat, too, until the man gets impatient and uses his fingers instead of the knife. That's when Tony cries out, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth together.

This gives Peter an opportunity to glance at Tony's arm, which makes his eyes widen and his breathing quicken alarmingly.

"Pete, hey, no, it's okay, look at me."

By some miracle, Peter pulls his eyes away from the hole in Tony's skin and his panicked eyes return to Tony's face. He knows there's a pain in his own too, but he'd rather have Peter see that than the ugly mess the man seems to be creating, probably on purpose.

"There we go," the man mutters to himself as he finds it, harshly yanking it out; Tony bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, judging by the copper-like taste in his mouth.

"Peter, eyes on me," he grits out, hoping and praying the man will leave them alone again so he can overcome the dizziness caused by the pain in his arm.

"Oh no, kid, eyes on ME." The man winks at Tony before walking back to Peter, leaving the blood on his hands as if it's moisturiser and there's nothing wrong with what he just did.

"You see this?" He holds up the tracker and Peter throws Tony an apologetic glance before nodding slowly, his eyes shifting to the small metal capsule still dripping with blood.

The man chuckles before holding the tracker out in front it of Peter's hand. "It's your only hope of being found. And I want you to crush it."

Peter pales, shaking his head. "I- I can't."

Tony holds his breath but the man doesn't give so easily. "We both know you have the strength to and, if you don't, I'll rip that arc reactor right out of your precious Stark's chest so your friends can track a dead man and his murderer."

Rage fills Tony. He hates this man for emotionally blackmailing Peter, the kid doesn't deserve to be put under this kind of pressure. He feels bad enough when he can't save strangers and to threaten Tony is too cruel.

Peter seems just as conflicted. His chin wobbles but he looks at Tony's bleeding arm again, swallows thickly, then slowly opens his hand, accepting the tracker when the man grins. Tony can see his hand shaking as he bites his lip, not wanting to be the reason they have no way of being found. The man leans forward and whispers something that causes Peter to quickly shake his head and look at Tony again, his eyes watering a little as he remembers to breathe.

With a small whimper, Peter shuts his eyes and squeezes, the metal bending, snapping and breaking apart inside his fist. The man is smirking smugly when Peter uncurls his fist, shards of metal falling to the floor. Picking them up without a word, the man then leaves, shutting the door and allowing the darkness to wrap itself around them once again.

Tony can almost sense the way Peter is trying not to show how upset he is, trying to avoid making Tony feel any worse; he's done the same thing for most of his own life.

"Pete? It's not your fault, they'll find us, it's okay."

"I'm so sorry," Peter whispers quietly, almost inaudible. The guilt in his voice breaks Tony's heart and he vows to kill these men, to break them, to make them regret hurting his son- his intern.

"You did nothing wrong," Tony assures him, "I'm proud of you."

Peter says nothing in reply but his breathing eventually evens and Tony assumes he's guiltily panicked himself into sleeping. It's almost a relief because that means Tony can let out a hiss of pain and gently tense the muscles in his arm to try and get used to the pain so he can hide it when Peter wakes up, which means he can spare the poor kid of any more guilt that might give him nightmares.

Naturally, Tony doesn't sleep. He doesn't dare, needing to stay awake so the man doesn't come back and hurt Peter without him knowing.

Anyway, he doesn't need sleep as much as he needs to wash his hand. The blood has trickled down his arm and over the metal restraint, now seeping between his fingers as an unwanted reminder of their situation. It's warm and sticky and Tony wants it gone because it's reminding him of times he'd rather not be thrown into when he's responsible for a child's life, especially when that child is Peter.

Letting his head fall back, he groans, wondering exactly who wants revenge this time and why he can't remember how exactly he got here. All he can remember is taking Peter out for ice-cream before the two of them discussing how to throw a party for Tony's oldest bot and then... Nothing.

He doesn't know if the others have noticed they're missing and he doesn't want to count on it. Peter doesn't deserve to be stuck here, to be stuck in the darkness and guilt-tripped into causing himself more guilt.

"Who are you?" Tony asks despite knowing there's no way he'll get a clear answer before they want to give him one.

He realises with a heavy regret that he'd told Aunt May not to worry because he'd be personally mentoring Peter for their internship, which means she won't think to alert anyone that he's missing. He knows FRIDAY will figure out he's in trouble eventually, he just hopes that eventually arrives before anything can happen to Peter.

As the darkness seems to darken and the pain in his arm dulls a little, Tony starts humming quietly enough not to wake Peter but loud enough to keep him alert. It's probably a waste of breath but he needs to stay awake and being stuck in one place does the exact opposite for him.

He only hums louder when he hears Peter shuffling, apparently dreaming of something unpleasant. He hums the tune of the song Peter had been singing on repeat in the car, hoping it can help to soothe him at least a little. He doesn't stop, not even when his throat starts to become dry, not until Peter quietens once more. Only then does he allow himself to cough and hope they can escape this nightmare before it gets any worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not beta-read so feel free to point out any mistakes you see <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	2. No Winning Against Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got a much better response than I could have imagined! Thanks guys <3

Unfortunately, they don't escape their nightmare before it gets any worse.

Just when Tony's mental calculations tell him it's the next day, Peter stirs, his neck making a distinct cracking noise as he snaps his head up, stifling a yawn.

"Pete? You okay?" Tony asks without missing a beat, his worry flaring back up.

"Wha...? Am I late for- oh, oh, wait, Mister Stark? Did- Did I fall asleep?"

Tony chuckles but its bittersweet. All he really wants is for Peter to be back in his own bed, worrying about punctuality rather than puncture wounds.

They get no more time to talk before a man, a different one from yesterday, walks in with a scowl so heavy it looks as if he was born with it. He flicks a switch and a red light so dim it seems pink comes alive above them.

"Good morning, scowl," Tony says quickly, knowing Peter would say something similar if he didn't and Peter getting unwanted attention is the last thing Tony wants for his son- intern, the last thing Tony wants for his intern.

"It won't be," Scowl replies coolly.

Peter, who'd been trying so hard not to make a sound, accidentally lets out half a yawn, biting his lip as Scowl pauses.

"I guess you're just too boring, huh?" Tony taunts loudly, hoping Scowl will let it go. He knows that expression, he knows nothing good can come from this and he'd much rather acquire another scar for himself than for Scowl to burden Peter with one.

"How dare you fall asleep in my presence?" Scowl's voice gets no louder but there's a new, more deadly edge to it and Peter pales a little.

Tony swears internally as Scowl turns and walks to the side of the room that's always covered in shadows. He tries his best to smile reassuringly at Peter but, when the man steps back onto the light, neither of them can fool the other into thinking they're still nonchalant.

"That's a really big syringe, shouldn't you find a smaller one for me?" Peter jokes nervously.

Ignoring him, Scowl presses down on the inside of Peter's elbow before shaking his head. "No. I think this one suits your disrespect just fine."

"What is that? What are you giving him?" Tony demands, not bothered that he sounds a little desperate. There's a good amount of liquid in the barrel but he can't tell what it is or work out what it's going to do.

"Something to make sure he doesn't fall asleep in my presence again," Scowl replies before steadying the needle.

Peter's breathing is already too unsteady to be healthy but he doesn't let himself flinch when the plunger is pressed and the translucent liquid enters his bloodstream. Two and a half seconds later, just when the needle has been removed, Peter's face scrunches up and he squirms, trying to get free of either his bonds or the pain, or both.

"What have you done? What was it?" Tony almost shouts, the look of agony on Peter's face hurting him more when his arc reactor had been compromised by someone he'd considered as a best friend.

Peter suddenly jerks, throwing his head back and crying out as if on fire, his back arching away from the metal frame as far as it can go, which ends up looking far more painful than it's worth.

"Pete? Pete, listen to me, please! It's okay, focus on me, you're going to be fine, Pete?"

"I- It hurts..." Peter groans through gritted teeth. "Please- puh- please make it sto- ahh!" He jerks again even though he can barely move.

Tony glares at Scowl with all the hatred in the universe and then some. It doesn't help Peter, who's still violently trying to get free, his hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly.

"I'm sorry, Pete, please, stop, you're going to hurt yourself!" Tony's almost shouting because of how loud Peter is whimpering.

Scowl holds up a hand and looks Tony in the eyes as he slowly puts each finger down one by one, minute by minute. Tony is ready to kill someone by the time Scowl only has one finger left and Peter has started to let out broken sobs. Slowly curling the last finger, Scowl smirks at Tony with the most emotion he's shown so far. His finger has just touched his palm when Peter screams, his attempts to get free weakening considerably.

No matter what Tony starts to say, Peter cuts him off and continues to scream; Tony can feel his heart crumbling. There's a lump in his throat that keeps him from trying to get Peter's attention after the twelfth time he fails, something that Scowl seems to notice.

He leans down beside Tony's ear and whispers, "It's your serum, you know?"

"What?" Tony chokes, the word barely forming on his lips just as the loudest scream so far forms on Peter's lips.

He wants Peter to be out of here, to be happy and screaming with joy instead of agony. The tears that fall from Peter's eyes may as well be acid aimed at Tony's soul, considering how painful they are to watch.

Scowl holds up the needle and, sure enough, there's a little Stark logo on the side. Tony's thrown into the past where nothing he did was for the good of humanity and nobody told him anything until it was too late. He's thrown back into a time where he was nothing more than a pawn but he shakes himself out of it, gritting his teeth to avoid slipping into flashbacks and compromising his composure.

"No, you're lying, that's not mine," Tony mutters, "we haven't manufactured one of those in over a decade, it can't be real. What did you give him? What is it?"

Peter screams again, abrupt, but his larynx protests and his voice soon fizzles into a weak whine, making Tony flinch.

Scowl just shrugs. "Aren't you meant to be good at calculations?" And, with that, he enters the shadows once more, his footsteps fading after a few seconds. Tony figures there must be a door on that side of the room but he's pulled out of his thoughts when Peter sobs.

"M- Mis- Mist- arghh- St- Stark?" He gasps between his weak whimpers, his body twisting as he tries to get free.

"Pete, yeah, I'm here, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, kid."

Peter nods, the muscles in his neck taunt as sobs escape him. He's clearly exhausted, tears falling from his eyes.

"Listen to my voice, Peter, just focus on me. Please." Tony hates talking about his life but, at this point, he'd do anything to help his son- his intern.

"I- I'll ahh- try, Mist- gahh- Mister Sta..." He cuts himself off with a whimper, clenching his fists and arching his back as much as he can.

"Okay, kid, listen up because I'm not saying this again. And don't tell anyone else I told you this..."

Tony starts to tell Peter about his experiences with school and how he'd always try to go above and beyond, which often led to minor catastrophes. He makes some of it up to hide the darker parts of his life he can't bring himself to remember but Peter doesn't seem to notice, his breath alternating between unhealthily fast and unhealthy slow.

He'd like to say he's been keeping track of time but it could be hours later for all he knows when Peter finally slumps, panting, his head falling forwards.

"Peter? Pete, talk to me, are you okay?" Even as he asks it, Tony realises how stupid a question that is. He isn't okay and it's highly unlikely he will be for a while after experiencing something like that.

Peter doesn't move at first. Then he gently unfurls his fist to reveal that he'd pressed his nails into his palm hard enough to pierce the skin, blood tricking over his hands. He exhales slowly and stretches his fingers, not even noticing when the movement aggravates the wounds and more blood leaks from the cuts.

"I am so sorry, Peter," Tony whispers, unable to take his eyes away from the cuts he should have been able to prevent.

When he looks up, his eyes are red, watery and full of pain, puffy from his crying. "Puh- please... Don't look next time."

If his heart wasn't broken before, it is now. The fact that Peter assumes this will happen again and that he blames himself instead of Scowl is the most painful realisation Tony has ever had. He hates that Peter wants him to look away, wants to spare him the pain or spare himself the embarrassment, because it's so stupidly selfless and Tony can never bring himself to do anything like that, not in a million years.

"Peter, no, this wasn't your fault."

"Doesn't matter," Peter mutters quietly. He sounds so hollow, so unlike himself.

Sighing, Tony tries to ignore his self-hatred as he asks, "Pete, I need to know, did anyone mention a name?"

Peter frowns, letting his head fall back and lean on the chair's frame. "One..."

"Which one?" Tony wants to punch himself for questioning Peter when all he deserves is a warm blanket and a three-day-long hug.

"Stane," Peter croaks, his eyes slipping shut as he starts to control his breathing.

Tony swears.

"S- sorry," Peter whispers as if on autopilot.

"No, Pete, it's not you," Tony assures him before trying to think back, trying to remember the names and faces of all the men he'd wanted to leave behind so many years ago.

"I can't... Mister Stark, I can't stay awake!" Peter whimpers, his voice layered with fatigue. Nobody should fear sleep, especially when it's an escape from pain, and someone as innocent as Peter being so afraid kills Tony, it really does.

"It's okay, Peter, let your body heal, you'll be okay," Tony promises, even though it's a lie and he can't guarantee anything because he's not in control of anything anymore.

"You promise?" Peter's eyes are dropping heavily and his voice is weighed down with sleep, his healing factor obviously trying to help him recover.

Tony doesn't even hesitate. "I promise."

There's a small smile on Peter's lips that says he knows both of them are incapable of promising anything right now when he nods. Either way, he falls back into unconsciousness, his hands still dripping blood onto the floor.

As soon as Peter's breathing has settled into a rhythm, Tony says, "Alright, come on, you cowards, who are you?"

There's a minute of silence after which the door opens and white light is thrown into the room while someone slips inside.

"Cowards? You are the one who watched the child suffer and did nothing."

That hurts. Tony had watched his- the child suffer but it's not like he could have actually done anything. It occurs to him that Peter may have seen him as uncaring but there's a small part of him that hopes that's not the case. Peter's not that sort of person anyway.

"We both know what kind of a terrible person I am but I don't know what of a terrible person you work for," Tony replies.

The man, who Tony can now confirm as the same one from yesterday, chuckles. "You really haven't guessed?"

"I don't like guessing. Not really my thing."

He's only half-lying. He has to guess sometimes, he has to, but when it comes to Peter, he'd rather not leave any margins for mistakes at all. Now the whole page is full of Peter's pain and there's nothing he can do about it except try to find out as much as he can and figure out a way to beat them with their own cruelty.

"You heard the boy," the man reminds Tony, which tells him that there's definitely some form of an audio recorder in the room.

"How do I know you didn't give him false information just to scare me?" Tony asks, knowing that Peter is definitely too kind and trusting for his own good.

"It seems you are more than your iron armour."

Tony scoffs, desperate for an answer but not willing to show the extent of his vulnerability. "I'm a genius, haven't you heard?"

The man raises an eyebrow and walks over, tapping the metal strap across his right wrist. "Well then, genius, why haven't you figured out a way to get free?"

He opens his mouth to reply but changes his mind, deciding to leave this battle before it begins and they hurt Peter as collateral damage again. It's taking all he has not to say something sarcastic because nothing they're doing is making sense, there doesn't seem to be a logical system or any kind of protocol.

"Is that all?" the man asks, sounding a little disappointed that he hadn't had to use violence. When he's met with silence, he laughs and walks back to the door, briefly pausing just to say, "We'll see how clever your genius really is in tomorrow's game."

With that, Tony is thrown into both mental and physical darkness. Even the pink light that had been buzzing above them has now been turned off, the two of them back in the grasp of shadows. He lets his head fall back and his eyes slide shut because there's only so long he can go without sleep and shutting down in the middle of whatever they seem to have planned for tomorrow would mean leaving Peter alone, which is something he wants to avoid as much as possible.

The threatening promise of a game throws him off; they hadn't seemed to have any kind of schedule beyond getting them both here and making it clear their situation is Tony's fault but now, they seem to have a plan of action. A plan of action born from revenge and forged with violence can never be good. He has no time to worry about possible outcomes, though, because as soon as he'd told himself he could rest, his brain had seized the opportunity and convinced his mind to feel tired.

With a growing trepidation in his heart, he falls into a restless and barely useful but still well-needed sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	3. Blood, Heat And Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> over 2.5k hits? I don't deserve this, thank you <3

Water.

Is he drowning?

Wait, never mind, he can breathe again.

Tony blinks away his fatigue and opens his eyes to see Peter doing a similar thing, both of them now awake and drenched.

"Oh, hey, Scowl, I'm awake this time..." Peter mumbles, "So awake. I've never been more entranced by a guy in gear..."

Scowl raises an eyebrow and glances between them before just accepting it. "I see."

"How about some small talk? How's the weather? Maybe let us know which city we're in?" Tony adds, ignoring the dull ache in his arm. "How are things at home? Are the kids well?"

Scowl smiles at that. "The kids might be alright but the parents-" he walks towards Tony and cracks his knuckles- "well, the parents better watch their backs."

"Are you referring to me? I can't even feel my back, never mind watch it. And who exactly have I given birth to then? My assistant didn't inform me of my apparent pregnancy, should I fire her? Or perhaps reconsider my understanding of biology?"

He's rambling, he knows he is. If they ever get out of here, he'll never be able to scold Peter for spewing out words at ninety miles per hour again without being called a hypocrite.

"Are you telling me that he-" Scowl points to Peter- "isn't your kid?"

Tony inhales sharply, then glances at Peter. But Peter is suddenly very interested in his nails, avoiding any chance of eye contact, so Tony says nothing, slowly nodding his head a little and hoping it won't land them in even more trouble.

Scowl shrugs. "Very well then. Let the game begin."

"Hold on, what is this game?" Tony asks, "Don't you have to tell us the rules and stuff?"

"Not if he's not your kid," Scowl replies with a sly smirk.

He's torn. He knows that admitting he cares for his son- his intern, admitting he cared for his intern means they can use that against them even more but he doesn't want to throw them into any kind of game with nothing. He's so torn that he says nothing, even when Peter's head snaps up, clearly sensing something Tony can't.

And then Tony smells it: heat.

"What are you doing? Are you burning something?" Tony asks instantly, straining to try and see.

"Oh, don't you worry about it," Scowl says as he re-emerges from the shadows he's walked into while Tony was mentally arguing with himself.

"What's the aim?" Peter asks, his voice a little rough. Scowl turns to him and must whisper something because Peter nods, adding, "He's just my boss."

"Yeah, exactly, what are we playing for?" Tony asks, unable to figure out why that comment had hurt him so much when coming from Peter's mouth.

Scowl sighs and gestures to the shadows, from which a new man appears, wearing a name-tag of all things. Conner - which is his name according to the piece of plastic stuck to his lab coat - stands beside Peter and rests an arm on his elbow. "Food."

Just at the mention, Peter's stomach rumbles and Tony can feel the pull of hunger in his own mind. For him, it's not even a choice, he'd give the food to Peter in a heartbeat because his increased metabolism means he genuinely needs it more to survive.

"You strapped us into metal chairs because you wanted to watch us eat?" Peter jokes, "Couldn't you stick to stalking like the rest of them?"

Connor chuckles but it's hollow and cold. "The two of you really like talking, don't you? I wonder who can stay silent for longer..."

Peter and Tony glance at each other, connecting the dots instantly. "Not me!" Tony blurts first, "I definitely can't so you should give the food to him!"

Scowl comes back with two unusually sharp knives in his hands, giving one to Connor without even looking at him before saying, "Winner gets to choose what happens with the food."

Tony shuts up. He's never shut up so fast. He'd shut up for all of eternity if it meant Peter can get the food he needs to stay alive.

Scowl presses the blade to the outer side of his shoulder and gently cuts into the skin. Tony can see Connor doing the same on Peter's arm and he wants to beg them to stop but he can't risk losing their game so he just apologises with his eyes.

One cut.

It stings, it hurts, but it's not too bad. He can see Peter's now-healed hands clenching again though.

Two cuts.

Scowl seems to be greatly amused by Tony's silence and makes the action longer this time, the pain sharp and slow, Connor looking on almost gleefully.

Three cuts.

Now he has a trilogy of spilling blood and he can feel it running down his arm but he blocks out the pain, ignoring it like he's done so many times before because he has to, Peter needs him to.

Four. Five. Six. Seven cuts.

Peter isn't holding up well and Tony can see it. His older cuts are already starting to heal but it's clearly draining him of the energy he so desperately needs and Tony wants nothing more than to hear him make a sound, any sound.

Eight. Nine. Ten cuts.

They've reached elbows at this point and Tony has his teeth gritted so hard he can't feel his lower jaw at all and there's a dull ringing in his ears. He doesn't know how much longer he can take the combination of pain on his arm and Peter's face before he snaps and ruins everything.

Eleven cuts.

Peter opens his mouth but nothing comes out, his eyes meeting Tony's with a look of pain that could break anyone's heart, except Scowl and Connor, who are either heartless or insanely well-trained.

Twelve cuts.

Tony can't clench his fist anymore because that tenses his muscles and disturbs the cuts on his forearm. He's resorted to biting his tongue, breathing as deeply as he can and trying to think of ways to escape this ridiculous situation, to go back home and listen to Peter ramble about lightsabers.

Thirteen cuts.

There are tears in Peter's eyes and tears in Tony's soul. Tony can't bring himself to smile anymore, breathing through his nose and watching the blood spread down Peter's arm so he can re-create this scene with their positions reversed as soon as they get out, as soon as Peter is safe, as soon as they can be free of this nightmare and go back to eating ice-cream.

Fourteen cuts.

Tony can taste blood in his mouth from where he's bitten his tongue too hard when Peter cries out.

He gasps for breath, clearly having been holding it, and Tony finally lets himself breathe properly as well. Scowl and Conner share a look before walking to the shadowed corner once more, probably to dispose of the blood-covered knives. Peter sobs as they do, his head dropping forwards in what Tony thinks is guilt.

"I won, right?" Tony asks shakily.

Scowl nods as he returns, his hands clean and his small smile fake. "Yes."

"Good." Tony catches his breath, spitting out the blood in his mouth. "I want my- want the kid to get the food."

"You're not accepting your prize?"

There's something wrong with the expression on Scowl's face, as if there's something he's hiding, but Tony can't place it so he just nods. "No. Give it to Peter."

"Refusing a prize will result in punishment," Scowl tells him blankly.

Punishment. Tony shakes his head, not caring what they do to him if it means Peter can stay alive a little longer, long enough for someone to find them.

"I accept. I accept the punishment. I don't care what it is, I accept it. Just give him the food."

Peter's sobs have faded to uneven breaths by now, his eyes red-rimmed with the tears he'd tried to hold back. He doesn't complain when Scowl not-so-gently attaches an IV drip to the arm they hadn't sliced into, only slightly wincing when the flow is started.

"How do I know you haven't poisoned that?"

"We are men of promise," Connor says from somewhere, "Now, sleep until your punishment."

The two men leave and a hissing sound fills the air, followed by a gas Tony tries his best not to breathe in. He watches as Peter succumbs to unconsciousness - looking less pale already, which proves that the men were actually telling the truth - and manages to curse at himself before he finally has to inhale, promptly feeling his eyes fall shut.

Water.

Again.

Tony splutters, his dreamless induced sleep dissipating in a heartbeat.

The smell of burning is strong in the air as he glances over Peter, who looks healthy, albeit in pain, and is now devoid of an IV drip. Peter smiles weakly, his eyes full of concern and the same agitation Tony can feel growing in his own blood. Speaking of, the blood has stopped trickling out of the cuts in his arm, some of it dried and some of it having rolled down his skin and fallen into a pool on the floor.

Connor and Scowl both smile crookedly as they reappear, apparently having the habit of making every single entrance and exit as dramatic and creepy as possible. If Tony wasn't so nervous about the aforementioned punishment, he'd definitely have made some kind of snarky comment about it.

"What have you decided?" Scowl asks.

Tony blinks. "What? Was I meant to brood over something whilst asleep?"

"What is he to you?" Connor asks, pointing to Peter, whose stare is full of confusion and dread.

"My intern," Tony replies but his voice is small, uncertain, unconvincing.

He doesn't know who they are or what they want so he can't tell what they want to hear from him. They know by now that he cares for Peter but he's had no hints about their motives or what they would do with his answer so he can't plan anything, can't predict anything.

"So you wouldn't mind if we gave him the punishment instead?" Scowl asks coolly, raising an eyebrow.

Peter's eyes widen in panic and Tony's heart drops. "What? No, I would mind, thank you very much. He- He's a vital asset to my company and I need him in good shape..." He doesn't even know what he's saying, he just wants to say anything that will help to protect Peter.

"But your relationship is clearly only professional..." Scowl's voice is dripping with a sense of victory.

Tony wants to punch his teeth out. "That's enough. Just give me my punishment."

Having been too focused on Scowl to notice his departure, Connor's re-entry makes Tony jump. His jaw drops in disbelief as he sees the metal rod akin in shape to a stamp that Connor is holding. The end, a triangle, is glowing red, clearly the source of the burning smell he'd thought he'd been hallucinating.

"No! Don't!" Tony shouts, straining as Connor walks towards Peter.

"Why?"

"You can't, you can't hurt him," Tony breathes, his need for Peter's safety more important than his need for oxygen at this point.

Scowl unbuttons the shirt Peter's wearing so the upper half of his body is free, free to be in pain.

"Stop! Leave him alone!" He thrashes against the metal but the only thing he succeeds to do is reopen half of the cuts on his arm.

The metal rod is positioned in front of Peter and said teenager starts to quietly whimper, turning his head to the side as if the danger will vanish just because he can't see it. Connor steps forwards and Tony can see Peter's spidey-sense warning him to get away - his hands are twitching - but neither of them can move to stop it.

"Just give us one reason," Scowl says, still glaring at Tony. He just bites his lip helplessly until Peter yelps, inhaling to attempt avoiding the metal rod when Connor moves forwards and the heat is pushed closer to his skin. Tony gives in, he can't sit here and fool anyone by saying Peter is nothing more than his intern, least of all himself.

"Okay, stop! Stop!" Tony gasps, sighing with relief as Connor pauses. "I don't want you to hurt him because- oh, what the- because he's my kid, okay? He's my kid and I care for him, is that what you wanted to hear?"

Connor steps back, Peter exhales and Scowl grins, walking forwards and obscuring Tony's view of his kid. He glances over Tony's expression with disgust before tapping his chest, the arc reactor, making him wince.

"This," Scowl says, pushing down on the arc reactor and making Tony gasp, translucent spots dancing in his vision, "is the best thing you have to remind you of your father, is it not?"

"What's it to you?" Tony croaks, coughing as Scowl doesn't take the pressure off his chest.

There's a moment where Tony connects both the dots in his vision and the ones Scowl seems to be colouring in with his words just before Connor asks: "Don't you want your kid to have something that reminds him of you?"

Peter screams.

His scream is high and strained and painful and raw and Tony hates himself or allowing this to happen. He can't see what's happening but he doesn't need to because he can smell it, he can smell Peter's burning skin and it's so obvious, it's so obvious what they're doing. It takes everything he has not to break down, wondering why on earth he hadn't figured it out when he'd seen the triangle on the end of the rod, the triangle that perfectly matches the shape of the one stuck in his own chest.

The howl of agony that leaves Peter's mouth is so loud, Tony's not sure he'll ever be able to get it out of his head. He can hear Peter writhing in his bounds but his screaming doesn't stop, his voice scarily strong as his pain continues.

Scowl, seemingly satisfied, pushes on Tony's chest once more before letting go entirely, stepping back and walking away. Connor must be following the same schedule because Peter's howl gets so much louder, so much more intense, before it breaks down into broken wails and the quiet sound of hot metal being pulled away from melted skin can be heard.

Peter's face is covered in tears, his wrists and ankles bleeding from where he's pulled on his joints to try and get free and his hair flopping down over his eyes as his chest rapidly rises and falls. He's still intermittently crying out, otherwise alternating between meek groans and feeble wails. His shoulders are shaking but Tony focuses on his face, not wanting to look at his chest, not wanting to see the damage he will never forgive himself for allowing.

"I'm so sorry, Pete, I'm so sorry," Tony whispers and, with a blank version of shock, realises he's crying.

Peter doesn't reply but Tony hadn't expected him to anyway. He manages to lift his head up and his pain-filled eyes lock onto Tony's before they roll back, his eyelids flickering rapidly as he loses consciousness yet again.

"I'm so sorry," Tony murmurs again, his chin wobbling as the image of Peter's beautiful, innocent eyes filled with hopeless agony and endless pain fills his mind.

His heart has literally been shattered a dozen times but it has never, never felt so broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, no, you can't kill me for causing pain.
> 
> Second of all, yes, that was a lowkey BTS reference parody in the title.
> 
> Thirdly, one of my friends is in a difficult, messy situation and needs some help so I've opened fanfic commissions, check out the post on my Tumblr (wordsablaze) if you're able to help and want me to write something for you!
> 
> Lastly, thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	4. Conduction Can Be Overrated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4k views? Ah, thanks!! Some of y'all requested protective Peter so here ya go :)

Tony doesn't remember falling asleep but he doesn't think he's ever going to forget waking up to the sound of sobbing and the scent of healing burns.

"Pete?" he asks blearily, his limbs aching from being left idle in the same position for too long.

The sobbing slows down a little before Peter sniffs. "Mister Stark?"

"Yeah, kid, I'm here, It's going to be okay, I'm sorry."

Peter seems to get control of his sniffling just as Tony fully wakes up and reality sinks into his mind like water into a sponge. The burn on Peter's chest is healing well – which they'd probably thought about so they wouldn't have to concern themselves with any kind of first aid, Tony hates to think – but it's going to scar and a reminder of this is the last thing Peter needs to recover.

"Good, you're awake," Connor announces as he walks in, wearing gloves and holding what looks like a miniature TV remote. His timing would be uncanny had Tony not already guessed there were a few cameras in the room at all times, even if he can't locate them.

"What is that?" Tony asks, "Don't hurt him."

Peter stays quiet until Conner presses the remote to Tony's shoulder but when he does then start to shout, Tony can't hear him because the world is too bright and he can't think beyond pain. It passes quickly but his hands twitch once, twice, thrice as he gasps, blinking to regain both his vision and his composure.

"Leave him alone!" Peter yells, which is probably not the first time he's said that in the last sixty seconds but it's the first time Tony has been aware enough to hear him. "We are not here for your entertainment! What, do you guys not have enough money for wifi or something?"

Connor turns to Peter and Tony's world fizzes again.

He cries out without meaning to, his muscles jerking and the metal around his limbs seeming so much tighter, so much harsher than before. He has to shut his eyes before he can recover, breathing heavily and groaning inwardly. Somehow, it's so much worse the second time around, as if someone had taken the process of immunity and reversed it.

"Stop it!"

"Why should I?" Connor sounds almost like a petulant child, the most human Tony can remember someone capable of branding to appear.

Peter seems to huff in either annoyance or fear. "You're hurting him!"

A part of Tony wants to cry at how innocent Peter still sounds, despite being more or less branded just a day before. Or maybe it was hours before, it's not like there's a clock anywhere.

"That's rather the point, brat." Connor's voice has now progressed into a scarily smooth mix of scorn and amusement. "Why does it bother you?"

"Because it's Mister Stark!" Peter fires back and now Tony has regained enough of his eyesight to see the cold fury in his eyes. It worries him that a teenager is capable of such ardent anger but, with everything that Peter's gone through, it's not all that surprising.

"He's already been hurt, what more do you want?"

Sparks flicker across Tony's vision as a strained cry is snatched from his throat and he knows that, had he been standing upright, he'd have collapsed instantly, embarrassingly. It's like his body is light, lighter than a feather, but bursting with energy that has nowhere to go but his muscles, making him heavy, heavy with the strain of being stuck in one place when his body wants to move, to use the electricity spreading across his skin.

"-op! You're going to kill him!" Peter's shouting, less irate and more desperate now.

If Tony could talk, he'd tell Peter that it's okay, that he'd made changes to his arc reactor after being persuaded by FRIDAY when he'd almost electrocuting himself in his lab, but he can barely feel his breathing and there's a low ringing in his ears that leaves him mute. Oh, how he wishes humans couldn't conduct electricity.

"And?" Someone says, probably Connor.

Peter all but growls. "You won't get anything out of this if you kill him! You can't possibly need us dead, can you? After all, what would be the point in- uh, the point in wasting all these resources and stuff if you were only going to kill us before we even know what you want?"

There's a bark of laughter after which Connor says, "What makes you think we'd have to kill both of you at the same time?"

Tony coughs, knowing that Peter must need a moment to recover from that implication. He knows he would. Unfortunately, Peter's smart enough to sense what he's doing and all but glares at him, almost warning him to stay quiet until he can feel his limbs again, until it's safe to talk without being shocked again, until he's not in immediate, life-threatening danger anymore.

"But what makes you think you'd get anything out of killing us individually?" Peter asks, his voice quiet but calm, like the eye of a hurricane.

"Hasn't anyone taught you about incentives?" Connor asks, sounding close to frustrated.

Somehow, Peter takes that in as if they're talking about how someone had bickered over carrots in the canteen last week. Shrugging, he says, "I know it's been like a hundred years since you went to school, if you ever actually did, that is, but for your information, they don't teach us the techniques of amateur kidnapping in class anymore. They tend to prefer things that aren't as evil, you know? Like mental math and how to avoid being noticed in gym class."

Out of all that, Connor picks out one word: "Amateur?"

Grinning smugly, Peter nods. "Sure. I mean, come on, you didn't even make sure we didn't know your names or put a bag over our heads, you didn't keep that red light on long enough for it to actually be unnerving and your cameras aren't even nearly subtle."

Having slowly become visibly more and more annoyed, Connor finally lunges forward and places his hand under Peter's jaw, his fingers digging into the teenager's skin with enough pressure to make his nails go white as he growls. Peter, to his credit, just chuckles. "Wow, I'm so intimidated. You're touching my face, what a nightmare. Not like I've had worse from tweens before."

Tony knows what he's doing, he knows this is all to make sure Connor is too distracted to use the remote again. He decides that, as soon as they get out of here, he's going to treat Peter to anything he wants as a token of his gratitude, no matter what he wants. Maybe even a proper embrace this time.

"Okay, ow! What, do you have a metal hand too?" Peter squeaks, his shoulders tensing.

"Did you get bored of me?" Tony asks as sassily as he can, more than aware of the slight waver in his voice but unable to watch Peter getting hurt to save him.

He doesn't care about his reputation or making an impression anymore, he just really needs to get Connor's attention away from Peter before anything happens. Somehow, it seems to work and Connor lets go of Peter, violently letting go of his head and causing it to hit the chair with a painfully loud thump. While Peter quietly groans from the force of that, Tony smirks at Connor.

"What, do I need to dance to keep your attention? He's right, you know, you're not very good at this whole kidnapping routine."

That must have been pushing it because footsteps gently echo before he might as well have dived into a swimming pool with the way water abruptly takes over his vision. He splutters, his eyes stinging as he shivers from how cold the liquid is on his skin. The cuts on his arm send spikes of pain along his skin as the water runs over them but he can barely feel it because it's just. so. freaking. cold.

"What are you doing? Playing opposites?" Peter blurts, "Burn one and freeze the other? We're not two sides of a coin, you know? I mean, you could say we're an apple and a tree but not quite, unless trees can suddenly fly and find the apples they want, I guess. Anyway, you might want to reconsider your decision if you want any results from us and if you want to stay alive even a day after you let us g- NO!"

Tony hadn't realised what it is that Peter was blabbering to save him from but, when everything becomes agony, he remembers that he'd forgotten how the composition of water means it can temporarily conduct electricity.

He can taste metal and he can feel his back arching away from the surface of the chair as he screams, his arms and legs tingling as if there are a million millipedes with needles for feet crawling across his skin. His muscles ache as if he's just finished carrying a car for a mile and he can't hear anything except for a loud buzzing, akin to a bee but so much more tangible, but he's almost sure he can see dazzling stars despite them being inside.

He thinks he can hear someone else shouting as well as himself but he can't tell if it's real or if he's imagining it. He can't even remember who he thinks is calling out, is it his son? He doesn't remember having a son; he doesn't even remember getting married. Oh, wait, you don't need marriage to have children, he thinks, just before even confusing fragments of incoherent thoughts become too difficult. Just like when hot water becomes so hot that it feels cold, the utter agony dancing through his body reaches a peak before it blurs together, his vision darkening to a pitch black nothing.

"-ter Stark, Mister Stark, please! Please, wake up! Can you hear me? Please, Mister Stark, please, come on, come on!"

He groans.

There's a sigh of relief but then pain spikes in his mind and he can't focus, can't ground himself even though there's something telling him he needs to get it together before things go wrong again, which they must because the world darkens to a murky grey.

"-top! You can't, he won't- No!"

Pain in his arm, pain in his mind, pain all over his skin and warmth… a warmth he hadn't thought was possible after the freeing liquid had become a part of his immediate environment. Something flies through his blood like an internal reminder to keep fighting, to keep trying to stay awake. He fails nonetheless, once again melting into unconsciousness.

"What the actual…" Tony mumbles groggily, then groans in pain.

He winces as someone gasps sharply, then smiles to himself as they whisper an apology, an apology that's quickly followed by a soft: "Mister Stark?"

Even if he was dead, he'd recognise that voice anywhere. There's just something so pure about Peter's voice that begs to never be forgotten. He still can't bring himself to move at all but he hums in acknowledgement, hoping that's enough, wanting it to be enough to make the boy he considers his son a little happier, a little less worried.

"Do you hurt? I mean, does it hurt? Actually, never mind, uh, what's that thing they always do…? Questions, right… Do you know your name?"

Despite the odds, Tony finds the energy to nod, albeit infinitesimally, which is thankfully enough of a reaction to warrant a moment of calm quiet. Said quiet is interrupted by a hesitant: "Do you know who I am?"

Another part of Tony's pained heart breaks because nobody, nobody at all, deserves to have no choice other than asking such painful questions. As much as he wants to say something, anything, he can't bring his mouth to move so he just nods again, wanting to let Peter know he's okay so the nervous tension in the air can fade away.

"Can you breathe? I got them to give you some food- I mean, it was an IV drip but that's better than nothing, right? Mister Stark?"

He'd laugh and cry if he could but all he can do is lift his head, blinking when there's a rush of white before focusing on Peter. Frowning, he blinks, then frowns harder at the black eye Peter seems to have acquired without him knowing.

"Uh, don't worry about it, Mister Stark, it'll go away soon enough," Peter says sheepishly, ducking his head.

"What…?" Tony manages, coughing. He hates that he can't function, he can't protect them, but he doesn't have any other options.

Peter's smile is forced when he shakes his head. "All due respect, Mister Stark, but now is really not the time. And you might want to save your energy, you looked worse than Mister Thor back then, hah…"

Mister Thor? Tony's confusion vanishes as his knees twitch and he remembers feeling like less of a person and more of a mere medium for sparks and pain. With a dim sense of horror, he realises Peter must have been watching as he'd screamed, as he'd failed to stay conscious, as he'd almost died. It's times like these when Tony wishes selective memory loss was a thing.

"Pete…" Tony murmurs, both overjoyed and saddened by the way Peter's face lights up at that as if Tony really knowing his name is the best thing he could have hoped for. Which, right now, it might actually be, but that only makes it worse because Tony wants Peter to find genuine happiness, not just clutch at superficial comfort.

"I'm sorry, kid."

Peter shakes his head but the edges of his frame seem to blur together, and has his hair turned red or is that just Tony imagining things again?

"Mister Stark? No, not again, come on, Mister Stark, stay awake, please!"

Apparently not. Tony enters a world of darkness again, the growing tingling under his skin that he'd been managing to push aside finally overwhelming his determination to stay awake and pulling him back to pain like an evil magnet. Not again, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support, love you guys! And happy pride month, I hope y'all are enjoying, you rock!
> 
> Guys, one of my friends is in a really difficult and painful situation so I've opened fanfic commissions! (detailed post on my tumblr) If you guys want to help out and want me to write something for you, please let me know!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	5. Ignorance Is Tantalising Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5.5k hits? over 350 kudos? so much support? can you hear me crying? thank you <3

Tony coughs as he regains consciousness, his throat rough and dry.

"-ake! You can stop that now! We can both go! Please, he's awake, look!"

He blinks, wondering who Peter's talking to, then gasps when someone harshly yanks him to his feet. Wait, to his feet? Tony groans as the world spins and his limbs start to tingle. He doesn't have much time to wonder why he's able to stand up or where the metal restraints have gone before he's walking – more or less being dragged – and walking and walking until he's shoved into a swimming pool.

No, not a swimming pool, he realises after finding out that he can still breathe and he isn't sinking. He's in some sort of a shower but the shower is the whole room so either someone had specifically designed a tiny shower room for them or he's going mad.

"Mister Stark?" Peter asks softly and heaven help him if that's not the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

"Pete?" Tony asks, blinking, lifting his right arm to rub his eyes because he can't really feel his left one. He winces anyway because the fourteen cuts on his right arm haven't yet healed and, if anything, they've just been provoked by the water falling from the showerheads near the ceiling that he doesn't have the energy to take a second look at because his neck is too stiff.

He can't peel his eyelids apart at first, part of his brain wanting to curl up and wait for the storm of reality to pass, and he has to pinch the skin under his eyes in order to make his eyes water and tell himself that he needs to move, he needs to see Peter, he needs to stop trying to hide from this pain because he can't risk what might happen to his son if he does.

When he does finally open his eyes, he sees an exhausted Peter smiling at him, standing a good metre or so away for some reason. Tony takes a moment to gather his bearings before looking Peter up and down, making a note of the healed cut on his collarbone and the scars all the way up his right arm, matching his. It's something that, had it happened accidentally on a mission, Peter would have high-fived him for but, now, it's an awful similarity Tony wishes he could erase.

Satisfied when he doesn't see any major injuries on his son, who he's not even fooling himself to think of as just an intern anymore, he puts his pain aside, lunges forwards faster he's ever done so before, and pulls Peter close.

Or rather, he tries to.

Before he can actually touch Peter, his fingertips just about having brushed those cute but worse for wear brown locks, a human wall appears in front of him and he smacks into it before being all but thrown backwards, landing heavily on his left side and sliding along the wet floor until he hits the wall with a groan.

His first instinct is to curse and he mentally strings together all the profanity he knows into grammatically-flawed sentences before he can even breathe again. Then comes the anger, the frustration at being so close to what he yearns for but stopped by someone they could easily have defeated had they not been so weak, so hurt.

"Oh, what the actual-" Tony mutters before he's forced to groan again as his arm shrieks in pain, then looks up to see a man he's never seen before standing with his arms folded, a cold smirk on his face as he towers over him.

"Uh, Mister Stark? We, um, we're not allowed to touch," Peter says quietly from behind the human wall, his small voice wavering.

"What?" Tony splutters, partly due to his absolute rage and partly due to the mouthful of water he'd collected as his jaw had dropped in shock at the absurdity of it all.

"You heard him, surely? No touching. Of any kind. Or else there'll be no breathing for either of you." The man moves away after shooting Tony a glare that chills him to the bone and beyond.

If he could, he'd punch something. Maybe a wall. But he can't, because he can barely stand up and his mind is on high alert, waiting for the electricity to come back. He does, however, manage to pull himself up and try to smile as he stares at Peter, taking in the fact that he's alive, his son is alive.

"Why?" Tony croaks, not sure exactly what he's asking or, ironically, why.

Peter shrugs, grabbing at his left elbow with his right hand and shifting between balancing on his heels and his toes. "Compromise."

There's a moment where Tony genuinely wonders what he's done in life to deserve the tragic sight of Peter trying his best to explain a horrible situation without starting to cry. And then the moment passes and it occurs to him that Peter must have been awake when he'd passed out from the pain of becoming a temporary lightning rod and so he will have had time to make negotiations he should never have had to make with the people he shouldn't even know exist.

"I'm sorry, kid," Tony whispers, "I'm so, so sorry."

"Yeah…" Peter sighs, stilling and finally looking at Tony, his eyes watery.

If Tony could sacrifice anything, anything at all, to see Peter excitedly beam at him again, he would do it in half a heartbeat. His hands itch to wrap his son in an embrace and shield him, if only for a moment, from the rest of the world and its vendetta against his innocence. For now, all he can do is say, "I promise you that we'll get out of here. Just hang on, alright, kid? We're going to be alright…"

Peter simply nods a little. "That's what you say every time. And then I tell you that it's nothing you should worry about and you ask me what I mean by that, and then I explain and it's all for nothing because it just keeps happening. Every single time…"

He doesn't wait for Tony to say anything before turning, lifting his hands to run them through his dripping-wet hair and rolling his shoulders as if- well, as if this is a routine he's familiar with, as if, once again, Tony is missing something. With the way things are going lately, he probably is.

The only thing he can do is hope he's not missed something that could have helped them escape. He'd been counting on someone having tracked him or FRIDAY having alerted the team that his signal had blinked out but with every second that passes with Peter in pain and literally just out of arm's reach, he can't stop his hope from shrinking.

"Pete?" Tony asks as kindly as he can, frowning, barely even thinking about the water starting to coax the blood away from his arm.

Peter's shoulders slump but he doesn't turn around and Tony can almost sense that his eyes are closed to stop himself from crying. After an extended pause, he shakes his head. "Mister Stark, just enjoy the shower, please? We both know you need it, right? And I'll explain everything later just like you usually explain stuff to me, I promise, but… please."

Funnily enough, Tony almost falls for it.

Figuring that he's better off keeping his clothes on instead of attempting to find privacy when he's being watched by three men who look like the incarnation of expert poker faces, he washes the sweat from his forehead and gently rubs any stubborn blood crusts off his skin. His hair is sopping wet by now so he gently rakes a hand through it, wincing when he pulls on the wound in his arm that doesn't look like it wants to heal any time soon. It's only when he almost slips again that he realises what Peter had said and joins some of the dots together.

"Pete? Am I going to forget this whole shower experience? Like I've done before"

Bingo.

Peter nods slowly, then turns around with the most melancholy look in his eyes. His chin is shaking but he licks his lips and says, "Yeah. There's um, there's something in the water. It makes you forget and uh-" he gasps, blinking rapidly- "and then we go back and it's-"

"It's like nothing ever happened?" Tony finishes for him and, if the water rolling down his face isn't only from the showers, nobody can prove it.

The scientific, curious side of him wonders what it is in the water that means only he forgets what happens but he doesn't listen to that part of himself, knowing he doesn't have time to waste on theorising instead of trying to distract Peter from their nightmarish situation.

"How many times has this already happened?" He asks, stretching out his legs as he does because, regardless of the reasons why, if he can prevent cramps, you bet he's going to.

"Every day," Peter replies, then pauses. "Well, we've only been here once before so, uhm, this is the second shower? But like, the basic, you know, stuff happens every day. I mean, it's probably every day but, like, I can't be sure because there's no- uh, no clocks in here…"

It's a good thing Peter then walks away, going into another en-suite-style room which Tony assumes is the bathroom, because, there and then, another part of his heart instantly folds into itself and dies with a scream. It hurts, it hurts so much to know that they're hurting Peter even more than he knows and it physically pains him to know there are gaps in his memory, gaps that make Peter cry and gaps that he can never fill in no matter how hard he tries.

It kills him to know that Peter is right there, close enough to wrap his arms around and hug until they forget about the rest of the world, but, at the same time, he's far too far away to protect.

"Why are you doing this?" he demands weakly, opening his eyes to glare at the man stood in front of the door, the man watching him as if he's capable of anything more than a bitter, useless hatred.

The man just smirks a little. "Like the brat said, no point in telling you. Now go, it's your turn for the toilet."

He must have been here with them all the other times too, as if bathroom duty is his job, because there's no other way he could have known Peter would come out that very second. It pains him to think someone else can know Peter's habits so well – that's his thing – but that's not even nearly as painful as seeing Peter keep his head ducked down as the two walk past each other, this time separated by only Peter's determination to keep the distance between them. It makes Tony wonder if they'd touched before and something had happened because of that.

He hears a muffled conversation from outside the door; it doesn't take a genius to figure out it must have been one of the men saying something hurtful to Peter.

His head is spinning even as he comes out of the bathroom, his feet echoing strangely as he walks back to the showers, propping himself up on the wall. He's dimly aware of Peter lightly crying – oh, how he hates the sound of that – as something, possibly a soapy solution, is poured over his head and he has to throw his arms out to steady himself from the force of it. By the time his vision is primarily white, he can feel his limbs weakening and the last thing he recognises is a cold smirk before his eyes shut on their own accord.

He yells at himself to remember just before everything fades entirely.

"No!"

Tony jerks awake, Peter's cry having destroyed his restless slumber.

"Pete? You okay?"

The silence that follows his question is full of a tension so thick, you could almost poke it. He pulls his eyes open in time to see Peter school his features into a messy smile.

"Just peachy, Mister Stark."

Tony coughs, shaking his head when he feels the weight of wet hair pulling him down. Without missing another beat, his whole body tenses up, not wanting to be caught off guard if they decide to use him as a pointless electric conductor again.

"It's okay, Mister Stark, they won't do it again, you got too close to uh, dying."

There's something in Peter's voice that doesn't make sense but he lets it slide, purely because Peter's eyes are full of hope, full of a hope that's quickly fading away, fading away because of something that Tony has clearly missed.

"Have they hurt you?" Tony asks instead, trying to scan Peter's skin but his eyes refusing to work, stinging as if someone had washed them out with soap.

Peter sighs and shakes his head, biting his lower lip as he leans back and stares at the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. At least, that's what Tony assumes he's staring at because he can't see anything else up there but, then again, Peter's eyesight if different and it's possible there's something he can't see.

Tony just wishes he knew what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that one of my friends is in a really REALLY difficult and painful situation so I've opened fanfic commissions! (detailed post on my tumblr) If you guys want me to write anything you want to read, feel free to help out and ask me!
> 
> Happy pride month, I hope y'all are having a good time!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	6. Chaotic Sensory Imbalance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had 450 kudos and 6666 views last time I checked, which made me laugh with shock (and at the irony) harder than Peter's tears make Tony cry... 
> 
> Sorry for the delay, I tried to make it longer to compensate. Happy July!!
> 
> Massive shout out to TheQueenOfWhump and SPiderKIDDz (TheEliteGeek) for the ideas for this chapter (and the next I think), you guys rock <333 * applause for them *
> 
> I haven't been adding chapter warning as I assume you all know what you signed up for but IF YOU DON'T LIKE SPIDERS, DON'T READ THE SECOND HALF, PLEASE.

With absolutely no warning whatsoever, Peter starts coughing.

Tony looks up in alarm as his son starts shaking, spluttering, and sucking in air like he's about to be thrown into a vacuum.

"Pete? Pete, breathe!" Tony yells uselessly, straining in his stupid metal restraints. He wonders if these stupid chairs had just been built around them because he hasn't seen any indication of them being able to open or unlock so the two of them can get up.

But Peter can't breathe so, soon enough, his eyelids flutter and his head droops forwards.

Tony curses, not even caring that he sounds worse than that stupid Barbie video Peter had shown him a few weeks ago. He doesn't get the chance to do much more than take another breath because a man comes in, one that he hasn't seen before, and stands in front of Peter, blocking Tony's view.

"Hey, Monobrow! What are you doing? Leave him alone!"

As expected, Tony's shouting does nothing to stop the man – now dubbed as Monobrow in Tony's mind on account of said facial feature being the only one Tony had glimpsed – and he's forced to sit still as the man does whatever he'd come in to do. Every cell in his body is aching to do something, to stop the man, to save Peter, but he can't so he just grits his teeth and breathes through his nose to try and calm himself down.

If it had been anyone but Peter, Tony would have risked making fun of Monobrow and taunting him until the attention had shifted back to him but he can't risk aggravating people who think keeping his precious teenager locked up in one room is okay.

It could be seconds or an hour later when Monobrow turns back to Tony with a small smile. "What do you think he'll say first?"

"What?" Tony asks, trying his best not to explode, his palms sweating from having clenched his fists too tightly.

"If you guess right," Monobrow continues as if Tony hadn't glared at him with the heat of a million stars, "we'll give you both a proper meal."

Tony subconsciously licks his lips at the thought but then shakes his head to snap himself out of it. "And if I guess wrong?"

"We'll up the stakes and try again, genius."

That doesn't sound good. Even if it was coming from the human embodiment of innocence, that sentence can never mean anything but trouble. Lots of trouble.

Tony shuts his eyes for a moment, wondering if he can do this and prove he's not utterly useless to Peter right now. After a moment of hatred for these people and remorse for their situation, Tony settles on his decision and clears his throat, "Mister Stark."

Monobrow just raises his monobrow.

"I think 'Mister Stark' will be the first thing he says when he wakes up," Tony repeats, swallowing heavily and hoping he hasn't missed anything again.

"Very well." is all monobrow says before leaving, leaving Tony to stare at his kid and hope he wakes up soon.

He doesn't.

With each passing second, Tony starts to fidget more and more, drumming his fingers on the chair and tapping his bare feet on the cold floor. He even starts to bite different parts of his lips in turn after a while, trying his best not to cry as he sees Peter, someone who's usually quite literally vibrating with energy, barely moving.

It feels like centuries before Peter starts to shift, his finger pinky finger twitching and his head jerking upwards.

"Pete? Come on, that's it, keep going!"

Peter must have heard him because he nods weakly and lifts his head up all the way, his eyes clearly rotating under his eyelids. Tony could kiss someone, he's so happy, but he focuses on getting Peter to wake up fully and figure out what they'd done.

"Come on, kid, open your eyes for me," Tony says as brightly as he can.

He doesn't, not at first, but Tony isn't surprised because that's completely understandable, he's a kid whose last memory is probably him slipping into unconsciousness for no reason whatever. When he does gather his strength and open his eyes, Tony's heart drops.

Something's wrong.

Where his eyes are usually a beautiful brown colour that looks deeper than a forest and silkier than chocolate, they're now an alarmingly dark shade of black.

Tony can't see very well but something akin to contact lenses seems to be in both of his eyes, something opaque that Monobrow must have put in when Peter had been unconscious. Oh, how he hates people and their cruelty sometimes.

"Pete? Pete, are you okay? Can you see?" Tony asks, frowning.

"I can't see!" Peter cries, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut again as if he can reboot his vision.

"Pete! Calm down, you're going to be okay! Peter, come on, listen to me!" Tony can almost hear the panic washing off Peter and he wishes he could move so he could console him.

"I can't see, I can't see, I can't see…" Peter mumbles to himself despite Tony's attempt to reassure him but still, Tony can't blame him, knowing that having one of your senses taken away from you is severely disorientating.

He waits until Peter's breathing returns to more or less a healthy rate before trying again. "Pete? Are you okay? You have to listen to me, buddy, I'm here…"

This time, he finds it more than odd that Peter hasn't replied yet. He's usually more than overeager to reply to anything he says, even when the two of them are having an argument. They always listen to each other, it's one of their agreements, and they never let the other go unheard or feel ignored. Which is why he worries on his lip before asking, "Peter? Can you even hear me?"

Either Peter is far too deep in his panic to muster the energy to reply or something is even more wrong than before. He decides not to jump to conclusions and tries one more time, yelling: "PETER!"

Nothing.

Peter doesn't even wince.

"Hey! What's going on! Monobrow, get back here! What have you done?!" Tony's voice is too hoarse for him to carry on shouting so his anger dissolves into coughs at the end of that question and he gasps, his eyes watering.

"Mister Stark?"

Oh, shoot.

Tony's heart deflates.

"Mister Stark, are you there?" Peter's voice is small, scared.

If only he'd asked that first. Tony shuts his eyes and swallows, remembering that he'd been warned something would get worse if he didn't guess Peter's first words correctly. He'd thought he'd been so smart with his guess but no, he'd gone and messed it up because he hadn't realised what they'd done. He should have known, he should have guessed that nothing with these people can ever be so easy.

"Pete, I'm here, I promise I am…" Tony whispers, knowing that it makes no difference how loud he talks when the person he's trying to communicate with can't hear him, or anything else for that matter.

"Mister Stark, please, I can't see!" Peter cries, blinking rapidly as he does.

He doesn't know what he feels anymore. A small part of him is thankful that Peter still believes in him, still believes that there's hope for them, but the majority of his mind is screaming, hating himself for being so unable to do anything and wishing that he could change things so Peter could be safe like he deserves to be.

His tears are ready to start flowing when Monobrow comes back in with a smirk. He's carrying a box that Tony can't see into so, naturally, he's on high alert instantly. "What is that?" Tony asks urgently.

Monobrow shrugs and places the box on the floor before opening the lid and picking something up. Tony gasps, struggling again. "Don't! He doesn't like them, please! Don't do it!"

"It's your fault-" Monobrow gently strokes the spider as if it's a kitten- "for not knowing your son well enough."

"That's not fair!" Tony yells when Monobrow holds the spider above Peter's foot. "I didn't know you'd blinded him!"

Peter shrieks as soon as the spider's feet touch his skin. His eyebrows scrunch together and he squeezes his eyes shut, crinkles appearing as he holds his breath. Tony yells in frustration as Peter stiffens, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of an arachnid slowly climbing up his leg.

"You should have," Monobrow replies as he pulls another spider out of his box.

Tony knows that, he knows he should have guessed correctly, he knows he should have done something to stop this from escalating, he knows he's responsible for everything they're putting Peter through, he knows he'd be more than lucky if Peter even looks at him after this is over, if this is ever over, and he knows he's failed to protect his son.

Peter whimpers when the second spider is placed on his shoulder, the arachnid immediately crawling along his collarbone and around his neck. Tony breathes a sigh of relief when the first spider travels from Peter's knees to the chair but his relief is quickly crushed when a third one is placed on that very spot, making up for it. This one climbs onto Peter's hand and Tony can see the way Peter tries to hold his hand still, his fingers shaking with fear as eight legs walk across the skin there.

The fourth one is placed on his other arm but it stars to climb up and Peter lets out a small whine, pressing his lips together so tightly, they turn into a white line. One is still climbing over his fingers, looking like it wants to go into his nails, and causing Peter's hands to twitch intermittently.

"Stop it, please!" Tony begs, knowing Peter is about to cry. He can't help thinking back to when he'd teased Peter for his fear of spiders, knowing that he can never joke about it anymore. He hates these men for taking away his opportunity to joke with his son.

Monobrow just shrugs. "If you can guess what he'll say first this time, I'll get rid of them."

He opens his mouth to reply but freezes when Monobrow lets another spider loose on Peter's jaw. Tony can't breathe as he watches Peter's eyes scrunch up further, a small whimper escaping him when the spider crawls over his trembling lips. Peter's barely breathing, a small tear escaping his eye despite how tightly he's keeping them shut, and Tony's remaining faith in humanity starts to disintegrate.

"Please, leave him alone, he's just a kid..." Tony's voice is broken, desperate, and he doesn't care in the slightest.

Peter's still vibrating with the effort of not moving but one more spider on his head - oh, how Tony wants to slowly, painfully eviscerate Monobrow for that - is all it takes for his resolve to break, a strangled scream escaping him as he shudders frantically, shaking his head hard enough to give anyone else whiplash and wriggling as much as he can to try and dislodge the unwelcome explorers. Only half of the spiders are startled enough to be thrown off so Peter starts crying, choking on his sobs because he doesn't want to open his mouth.

"You still don't want to guess?" Monobrow taunts.

Tony growls at him, gritting his teeth, but then he exhales heavily and licks his lips. "I don't know, I don't- I can't- Uh, he could- uhm, he might say 'please' but I don't- I'll just go with that, I hate this, I'm so sorry Pete but please say something, kid, come on..."

Peter doesn't say anything though, he just sobs as his tears are thrown from his face by the force of his violent attempts to rid himself of the spiders. Tony's racing over his pleas for Peter to say something, anything, preferably the word 'please', but they quite literally fall on deaf ears, which is now yet another part of their situation that Tony fails to understand.

Only when one of the few remaining spiders crawl over his left eye does Peter squeak in fear, letting out a heavy sob before finally unfolding his lips and crying out: "Please, please, enough, please! Mister Stark, please! I don't like this, please, Mister Stark, help me!"

Peter shrieks again as the same spider that had crawled over his eyes now falls onto his ear, then shakes his head as hard as he can, brokenly sobbing once more. "Please, I can't see, Mister Stark... I'm sorry, I can't do it, I can't do it, please, help me... Mister Stark?"

He screams as one of the spiders finds its way under his shirt at the back of his neck. "Mister Stark!-" he sobs- "Are you still there, please-" another sob- "Please, help me, I'm sorry-" he arches his back, screaming again- "Make them g- go away, please, puh- please, Mister Stark, why aren't- why haven't you said any- anything?"

Tony wants to curl up and cry or sink down and die, both seem less painful than this.

"I am saying something, Pete, please, I'm sorry," Tony whispers uselessly, tears pricking at his eyes. He then turns to Monobrow with a glare. "Get rid of them, I guessed right, now get rid of them, please!"

"The famous Tony Stark, begging?" Monobrow grins but gets something else out of the box, a canister. He doesn't wait for a reaction out of Tony before spraying it all over Peter.

Peter screams, tensing and wriggling, but the spiders flail and fall to the floor, dead. Even when the last spider - Tony counts as they fall to make sure it's all of them - falls to the floor, Peter doesn't stop screaming, still shaking and thrashing as if there are still dozens and dozens of legs crawling over his skin. Tony wants to console him but there's nothing he can do if Peter can't see or hear him.

"What was the point of that?" Tony asks, shutting his eyes for only a second because he doesn't want to see Peter in pain but he can't risk them doing something else while he's not watching.

Before Monobrow can say anything, Connor from before walks back in, clearly smug about something. "Don't question our game unless you understand our thinking."

"I can't understand anyone who'd do something like this to a child so I'll question your stupid game all I like," Tony grits out, shifting his gaze back to Peter, who's now gently sobbing, still shaking harder than an adamant sapling in a hurricane. "Haven't you done enough?"

Connor snorts as if amused. "You each get one meal and then it's your turn, genius."

Tony's heart is racing but he just swallows his fear and shrugs. "I'm not scared of you."

Monobrow steps in front of Peter, who flinches and whimpers, which shows that the senses that haven't been blocked have flared up to a painful level. This must be worse than a sensory overload for him because it has to feel like there's something missing for him and his skin receptors must be screaming at him, with none of his other senses to dull or distribute the intensity. Tony's heart snaps inside of him once again and he curses everything he can think of as he tries to see what they're doing. Peter doesn't stop whimpering until he starts yelling, his hands and feet jerking in their restraints because of whatever Monobrow is doing.

He forgets about Connor watching him, he forgets about the threat he'd been given, and he forgets about everything else when Monobrow steps away from Peter, who gasps and breathes heavily, stumbling over sobs as he relaxes enough to stop shaking but not enough to calm down.

"Pete? Pete, come on, buddy, can you hear me?" Tony asks urgently, licking his lips again, his mouth dry from his earlier pleas.

Peter coughs before taking a deep breath and opening his eyes; Tony sighs with relief as he sees the beautiful brown eyes he'd missed so dearly.

"Mister Stark?" Peter blinks, seemingly better, but then he looks down and sees the dead spiders on the floor, his face immediately crumpling as he starts crying again.

"Pete? No, kid, come on, look at me, you're okay, hey!" Tony's not even sure if his words are coming out, he just needs Peter to stop crying, he needs Peter to be as okay as he can be after something like that.

"I'm s- sor- ry, I tr- tried so har- hard to be br- brave," Peter gasps between cries, his chest heaving as he starts to panic again.

Tony blinks away his own tears - but badly as he ends up crying anyway - and leans forwards as far as he can. "Peter, come on, it's okay, that was brave, so brave. You did good, kid, it's okay."

This time, he knows Peter can hear him again because the teen looks up with guilt and fear in his eyes. "Are- are you sh- sure?"

He sees Connor raise an eyebrow and can't help admitting to himself that he's really not sure, he doesn't know anything right now. Trying not to show how much he hates himself, Tony smiles. "Of course I am, Pete, when am I not, huh?"

Peter nods weakly, his sobs melting away a little as his breathing deepens and he looks over Tony, looks over him as if he's no longer a man stuck in a metal chair watching his son cry but a source of inspiration and strength for anyone who's just been traumatised. The sheer volume of hope in Peter's eyes scares Tony as much as it reassures him because he's not sure he can deliver this time and he doesn't think he or Peter can make it through without lifelong scars if this goes on much longer.

Well, at least they get a meal now; food is meant to help everything, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another reminder that one of my friends is in an extremely difficult and painful situation so I've opened fanfic commissions! If you guys want me to write anything you want to read, feel free to help out and ask me!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	7. So Much Is Ruined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh,,, 570 kudos and 8.5k views, are you serious? I'm freaking out, thank you!! 
> 
> Shout-out to SPiderKIDDz (TheEliteGeek) and TheQueenOfWhump for the initial ideas again!!
> 
> Hydration game: take a sip every time I find another way to say their voice is not normal or that someone makes a sound of pain. You'll need a new drink by the end *sighs*
> 
> I am more sorry than Tony is right now for updating so late, a lot of stuff came up, it had to be rewritten because it got lost, and.. well, life. But these excuses are wasting your time so, enjoy!!

Tony must have passed out from fatigue at some point because he wakes up to a dull headache and stinging wrists.

He glances down to see little cuts, tiny little scratches, around his wrists like odd bracelets.

After analysing them and coming up with nothing that could be a cause – other than handcuffs, which doesn't make sense to him – he looks up to see Peter squinting at him with a hope that fades as soon as their eyes meet.

"Pete? What- argh, I'm- ah, I'm sorry…" He trails off, blinking.

"Let me guess, you're dizzy?" Peter asks, his voice tired.

It's only then that Tony notices Peter's tears are gone, as are the spiders that were littered at his feet. He frowns. "How long was I out?"

Peter grits his teeth, exhaling shakily. "Not long," he mutters eventually, clearly lying.

Tony knows he has to choose his words carefully but he can't decide why he should be careful, there's just something about Peter's expression that tells him something is wrong, something has happened that he's not aware of, so he goes with: "Where did the spiders go?"

Bad question.

Immediately, his son’s hesitant smile morphs into a complete frown and Tony knows he’s ruined his chance at keeping their hopes up even before Peter says:  "You don't even remember that bit? Just great..."

He then mutters something about racoons and glasses but Tony's too busy evaluating the comment about his memory.

"Remember what bit?" Tony asks slowly, rolling the words over his tongue as if they're a poison aimed directly at his emotions.

Peter's gaze snaps up, his eyes mercifully still their natural colour, but he says nothing, biting his hip and curling his fingers as if he's in pain.

He doesn't get to say anything though, because, once again, someone walks in and interrupts them. It's Connor.

Thinking that he's here to give them their promised meal, Tony says nothing as he approaches.

But he just stands in front of Tony and takes something out of his pocket, a little black box no bigger than his thumb.

"That can't contain a very substantial meal," Tony says, nervous but trying not to show it. 

Connor’s smirk is the worst thing he’s ever seen, full of a smug malice.

Tony resists the urge to flinch as Connor comes closer but shuts his eyes on instinct when he doesn’t stop, his hands reaching for Tony’s face. Nothing happens for a second so he opens his eyes again, instantly regretting it when Connor takes the opportunity to try and put something in his left eye.

He thrashes but it’s pointless, he can feel the cold material settling over his eyes, he can feel the darkness threatening to take over his vision, and he can feel the pain that erupts as soon as Connor lets go of his eye and takes hold of the other one.

He almost wants to scream but he doesn’t want Peter to hear that so he clenches his fists and tries not to move, tries not to make a sound. By the time Connor’s gone, Tony can’t see, everything is black. He squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again but nothing happens, it all stays dark. 

Groaning, he realises this is what Peter must have gone through. 

That doesn’t help him though, he’s still just as confused and alert, his skin prickling with every sound that hits his ears - he can still hear, unlike Peter, oddly enough.

“Mister Stark? It’s okay, just calm do-ammpff!”

“Pete?” Tony asks, frowning. That didn’t sound good.

He doesn’t hear anything else, only a strangled noise of protest, after which there’s silence and heavy breathing.

“Pete? Are you okay? Kid, come on, talk to me,” Tony pleads, not caring how pathetic he sounds.

His only reply is an almost nonsensical whine. 

Then silence. 

But not for long. 

Tony hears the sound of metal clicking, possibly something being unlocked, before there’s a muffled yelling that sound an awful lot like Peter.

“Pete? What’s going on, kid?” Tony asks urgently, blinking as if that can somehow get his vision back.

He hears another smug, condescending laugh and wracks his brain to try and associate that ridiculous sound with a name. He finds it unusually difficult, as if someone had shoved a hand into his memory and rooted around without consideration for his sanity or the rest of his mind. 

“Have you ever been held captive before?” A cold voice asks.

“Of course, who do you think I am?” Tony scoffs, assuming the question is for him because surely they can’t have expected Peter to answer that.

Thankfully, he’d assumed right this time.

The cold voice that he immediately recognises as Scowl this time says: “Then you must know what happens when you try to escape.”

Tony’s heart drops just as he frowns in confusion. The last time he’d tried to escape, he’d had all the bones in his left foot broken. That had taken weeks to heal and the last thing Tony would rather die than let Peter experience that kind of pain. 

He swallows his fear and clears his throat. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re pretty stuck in these chairs. I don’t think we’ve tried to escape yet.”

Peter whimpers quietly, but not quietly enough for Tony to miss it. 

“Pete? What is it? Are you okay?”

He only gets a muffled noise in response. It takes him a second to realise why Peter isn’t saying anything despite usually rambling as a coping mechanism, at which point he scowls darkly. 

“Have you gagged him?!” He can hear the rage in his voice but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t know what to do with this revelation, he’s lost in the guilt for not saving Peter from this. 

“We’re going to ruin him,” A cold, icy voice whispers silkily, softly, slowly, right next to his ear.

There’s a moment of silence before he hears something swing through the air. This is followed by the horrible sound of wood hitting skin and Peter yelling, still muffled by what Tony now knows is a gag. 

“Stop that!” Tony yells before he can stop himself, cursing the stupid darkness veiling his vision. 

Nobody says anything but the muted thud rings out again, making Peter cry out. By that, Tony can gather it’s something like a cane they’re hitting him with, probably hitting the soles of his feet if what they say about punishing him for trying to escape is true.

“Your boy is pretty weak today, huh?” Connor asks, his voice still right next to Tony’s ear, causing him to jump yet again.

He recovered quickly, shaking his head in hope to hit Connor but failing. “Shut up. He’s stronger than all of you combined!”

Another hit.

This time, Peter practically screams and Tony can hear him trashing, clearly trying to get free. He can’t take it, he can’t understand why they’re punishing a child. Peter yells again and Tony winces, squeezing his useless eyes shut. 

“Why are you doing this?” He asks, well aware that he sounds like he’s dying. “He hasn’t even done anything!”

The next hit is louder, more fierce, and Tony can almost feel Peter’s stifled scream. Two more in rapid succession make his broken heart break even further and he clenches his fists, trying not to cry because Peter can see him, Peter needs him to be brave.

“When did we even try to escape? You’re not making any sense!” Tony shouts as Peter groans, wanting to get their attention away from his son. 

“Haven’t you been listening to your pathetic kid?” Scowl asks, sounding as if he’s breathless. Tony makes a note of that, reminding himself to return the favour to him when the two of them get out of this mess.

Tony flinches when Peter screams again, breaking into half a sob near the end of it. Still, he tries to smile as best as he can. “You’re going to have to explain a little better than that.”

Peter seems to mumble something, three muffled syllables, but then screams again as Scowl hits him twice without a break in the middle. 

“Stop it!” Tony yells, his toes curling at the thought of how much pain Peter must be in. 

The three syllables again. And again.

Before they can be repeated a third time, Scowl scoffs, sounding both fed up and gleeful as he does. Tony is alert immediately, fearing the worst, and rightly so. A split-second’s silence is followed by a rapid succession of dimmed but heavy thuds that are accompanied by Peter howling in pain.

The sound worms its way to Tony’s heart and rips through any resolve he had left, causing tears to slip from his eyes and slide down his face. 

Peter starts sobbing and, even through the gag, the sound echoes around the room.

“That should do it,” Connor says, laughing; Tony wants to kill him, painfully.

“Now for the other foot!” Scowl replies, sounding far too cheerful. 

Tony’s whole body freezes. He’d thought it was bad enough before but knowing that was all one foot - he can’t bring himself to feel happy to have guessed that part right - makes everything so much worse. Peter’s feet must be bruised and bleeding from all that, which means any plans he could have made to escape are all useless and ruined now. 

“Please, please don’t,” Tony begs, keeping his eyes shut because he literally can’t see the point of keeping them open anymore. 

He hears Peter whimper sharply, then the sound of something metal being fastened, which he assumes is the restraint on the chair. The restraint for the other leg - or at least, he assumes that’s what it is - is unlocked and Peter starts repeating his three syllables again, barely breathing. 

Forcing himself to swallow the wet lump in his throat, Tony breathes as deeply as he can, trying not to panic. “Pete, hey, it’s going to be okay,” he promises, knowing it must seem more like a lie at this point. 

It’s so much worse when the first hit lands this time because Peter’s already crying and that makes his scream sound so much more broken this time around. He’s still intermittently chanting his three syllables between pained howls and agonised whimpers. 

“Leave him alone!” Tony yells, well aware that he’s crying. 

A hand is placed on his shoulder and he thrashes, almost growling in frustration, rage and grief. Connor’s laugh rings in his ear, followed by a quiet drawl: “He really does look beautiful when he cries, if only you could see it...”

The words that spring to Tony’s mind are far too profane for him to say in front of Peter so he just rolls his shoulders again, trying to dislodge the hand gripping him there. It doesn’t work, of course, but he hopes the message gets across nonetheless. 

“Do you know what he’s saying?” Connor asks, his voice maddeningly smooth and confident. 

Tony shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut when Peter screams once more, the sound full of pain and despair. 

“Are you sure you can’t-” he digs his fingers into Tony’s skin, making him wince- “guess?”

Confusion fills Tony’s mind before he gets the point of Connor’s emphasis and wants to throw his heart of a cliff because that would hurt less. Now that he knows what he should listen out for, he can hear it, he can feel it drilling into his skull, he understands how useless and disappointing he must be to Peter right now.

Because Peter, somehow still believing in him despite everything that’s happened and is still happening, is calling out his name.

As if on cue, Peter yells again. Now that Connor’s pointed it out, he can clearly make out the cry of “Mister Stark!” in the noise Peter throws out.

“Pete, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I’m here, I will always be here. Please, hang on, Kid, I’m so sorry,” Tony rambles, falling over his words but needing to say it, needing to let Peter know he’s still here, he’s not going anywhere, he wouldn’t go anywhere even if he could. 

Peter whimpers weakly when Scowl laughs and the sound of wood hitting skin stops, his voice utterly broken and understandably exhausted.

Tony holds his breath as he heard the sound of what he thinks is the restraint being put back on Peter’s ankle and waits as he hears the receding footsteps, waits until he’s sure this isn’t a trick or that they’d just taken a break for some reason. 

Connor finally lets go of his shoulders, making him wince, and walks around him, then says: “I hope you aren’t afraid of your darkness, Mister Stark.” 

The way he uses the name is crude, cruel, and, admittedly, clever. Tony knows he’ll never be able to hear that name in the same way but it’s not like Peter will suddenly stop calling him that so he’ll have to deal with it each time, he’ll have to carry on despite reliving this every time. 

Peter lets out a soft, weak and muffled mumble before his voice fades to restless breathing, suggesting that he’s finally passed out.

“If he ever wakes up,” Connor calls, already sounding far away, “you can ask him about your failure to escape.” 

Tony has enough energy to shout: “Wait, I still can’t see! You can’t leave me like this!” He knows he sounds pathetic but his dignity is in ruins anyway and he wants to know when Peter wakes up, if Peter wakes up.

A laugh echoes around him. “It’s not like you were of much use even when you could see!”

Then a door slams and he’s alone in the dark silence. 

Tony groans, knowing that Connor is right, that he has a point. Any and all of his attempts to help have been pointless so far so why would this make a difference? 

A selfish part of him wants to be able to see so he can tell how Peter is doing and what state he’s in. But a larger, louder part of him knows that he can’t do anything to help Peter, especially now that the poor boy won’t be able to walk - or properly speak, unless his vocal chords are miraculously somehow still functional - and so they’ll just have to carry on waiting, hoping. 

Restless, Tony opens his eyes and stares into the induced blackness pressing in around him, suffocating him. Letting his tears fall, he makes another note to install nightlights everywhere if they ever get out of this.

He hates these men for ruining not only their present, but their chance at a future. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading and supporting this fic!! I appreciate your comments so much!!! It makes me smile and motivates me when I see the email for them! 
> 
> I would shout out but it's ALL of you, from the screaming to the people who come back again to people who leave a comment even if English isn't their native language to the people who are in places they should not be reading whump, to the long, comprehensive reviewers, and everything in between! Yes, I mean EVERY ONE of you. You guys are legends <3
> 
> If you can donate anything to my friend to help her situation get better, let me know and I shall write a fanfic for you!! 
> 
> The next update may be equally as late as I have to finish the fics for the Big Bangs (there are deadlines that I'm a bit behind oops) but I'll try not to leave you hanging too long! Feel free to yell at me if I take forever! :)
> 
> My Loki shimeji has been an absolute menace while I've been writing this -and cloning himself so he's in the way of everything- so it's possible there are typos. Please forgive me and, if you do point them out, try not to be too harsh. Thank you.
> 
> PS. Yes, I know I use way too many commas and that these A/Ns are v v long. * shrugs *
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	8. Tears Are Shed, Vows Are Due

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the title is rubbish, I tried so hard (literally half an hour of staring at my screen)... 
> 
> I hit 10k views and legit died of happiness, thank you so, so much!!! And 650 kudos?? I'm shook?? I love you guys :) 
> 
> Also, I wanted to write fluff for the birthday of my favourite monster and this was honestly the fluffiest I could manage right now * sheepish grin *
> 
> I'm cutting it close but happy birthday, nessi, thank you for being my friend, love you loads!! * pinof hug * <333

Tony doesn't know what's happening. 

He doesn't know if this is real or not but, right now, he couldn't care in the slightest. 

To his utter shock, he'd woken up to see - actually see, which was surprising enough in itself - that he wasn't in the chair. He'd found himself slumped against the wall of what had looked like a communal shower, which is where he still is. 

Except that most communal showers don't have flashing red lights and the dull echo of a siren, the combination of which is enough to drive anyone mad. 

“Peter?” Tony calls, his voice hoarse. “Pete? Are you in here?”

When he gets no reply, he moves to stand up, then promptly cries out. Biting his tongue in case Peter is listening, he glances down at himself to see handcuffs around his wrists and blood seeping out from his left side. 

The memory of waking up last time with little scars around his wrists that had reminded him of handcuffs hits him like a battering ram and he has to close his eyes for a minute, trying to accept that the events in his head are not the whole picture and that he'd probably been here before but he just can't remember it. 

Only once he can place at least minimal trust in his mind does he silently thank their captors for handcuffing his hands in front of him before gently lifting his shirt to see an angry but uninfected red area of raw skin, maybe two inches across and still bleeding, which he knows to be a bullet graze. 

Thankfully, it's not deep enough to immobilise him but it is burning almost fifty times as worse than when he'd tried alcohol for the first time. 

Normally, he'd take his shirt off and wrap that around the wound to stop the bleeding but he can't, not with his hands handcuffed together and nothing in the vicinity that could help him pick the locks. 

He takes a deep breath, grits his teeth, and awkwardly pulls himself up and rolls his body at the same time, ending up on his knees, breathless. After ten seconds of recovering, he kneels up, clutching the wall for support, sweat trickling down the side of his face from the effort. Another ten seconds and then he's lifting a leg, kneeling down on one knee, and then shakily standing up, immediately leaning on the wall and shutting his eyes, his side screaming at him to sit back down. 

“Pete?” Tony calls again, his voice weak but his determination strong. “Pete, please, please tell me you're in here…”

When he gets no reply, he sighs and presses his hands against his bleeding wound, starting to walk. He almost collapses after the very first step, barely managing to avoid a strong encounter with the floor, but stumbles his way deeper into the room, avoiding the closed door behind him and heading to the ajar one. 

“Peter…” Tony breathes, trying not to focus on the sickeningly wet feeling of blood between his fingers. 

He practically falls onto the door, groaning when it slides open with ease and makes him crash into the wall. That hurts, it hurts so much, but he knows Peter had been in more pain almost all the time so he sucks in a breath and pushes down the agony.

Hearing a muffled noise, he clumsily whirls around, his eyes widening when he sees his son sat in the corner of the small space, squashed between the toilet and the wall, a gag still in his mouth. 

He meets Peter’s terrified gaze within milliseconds, the two of them freezing, staring at one another, expecting a catch but being met with only silence and their own uneven breathing. 

Without thinking, Tony falls to his knees, not caring about the spikes of pain that instantly make themselves know, hesitating only microscopically before reaching out and gently rubbing a thumb over the irritated but not infected, healing wounds on Peter’s feet.

It's minimal contact and, at any other time, with any other person, it would mean nothing but, screw every other situation, this is his son and he's real and he’s here and they're touching and his son is alive and they’re together after so long, too long, and everything is suddenly so much better. 

Peter all but whimpers and scoots forwards as much as he can before something clinks and he's pulled back sharply. 

“Pete? What…?” Tony cuts himself off, seeing the handcuffs around Peter’s wrists, the handcuffs looped around a pipe. 

Pushing aside his self-hatred, Tony shuffles as far as he can and lifts his hands to undo the gag in Peter’s mouth, his heart falling when Peter flinches. He stops immediately, pulls back, and smiles as best as he can. “Hey, hey, Pete, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. Will you let me take this away, please?”

He waits until Peter slowly nods and turns his head to the side before reaching up again, fumbling with the triple knot before eventually, eventually getting it loose enough to slip it off Peter’s face. 

“Mister Stark…” Peter coughs, his eyes watering. “You're hurt, I'm sorry, I-” 

“No, no, none of that. It's okay, I'm fine,” Tony murmurs, placing his hands on either side of Peter’s face, his thumbs tracing circles on Peter’s skin. 

Peter leans into his touch, a small sob escaping him, a sob of relief and happiness. His whole body melts into Tony’s touch and Tony's so happy because there's a tiny, tiny smile on his son's face and he's actually touching him, physically touching him, and nobody's charging in with a threat of punishment and it's everything he's been dreaming of recently. 

“Mister Stark, please, I'm so sorry, I just want to go- I- I want to go home! I can't do this anymore, please, I want to get out of here, Mister Stark, I don't- I can't take it, I'm sorry,” Peter babbles, sobbing harder, struggling with the handcuffs, the metal digging into his fragile skin as he tries to move closer to Tony. 

If only he wasn't stuck in such a small space, Tony would have squeezed in next to him. 

“Kid…” Tony sighs, leaning down and placing a gentle, solid kiss on Peter’s forehead. He uses this thumbs to brush away the fallen tears on Peter’s face and offers a strained smile. “Peter, I love you so much. I'm so proud of you for hanging on for so long, you're truly the strongest kid I know. I wish you hadn't had to but you did so well, you were the best. What do you say we get you out of those handcuffs, yeah?” 

He suppresses a wince as the talking aggravates the pain in his side and focuses on Peter’s teary but hopeful eyes. 

Peter nods shakily, his chin trembling, and shifts himself to the side as much as possible, curling up into a tiny structure, making Tony want to just wrap him in love and protect him from the world.

Shaking his head to focus, he grabs the gag from where he'd randomly thrown it earlier and twists one corner until it's almost sharp, licking it and then awkwardly leaning over and around Peter to try and pick the handcuffs. Just his luck, the hand he tries first is double locked, meaning that he can't get into it without a key, almost causing him to give up. 

Gritting his teeth and twisting the fabric again, he tries the other cuff, wriggling it around and hoping, praying, that this one will be easier to pick. 

“Mister Stark?” Peter asks, his voice quiet, hollow. 

Tony hums, biting his lip, not wanting to even breathe in case he angles it wrong and the whole thing fails. 

“I'm still here, Pete, it's okay, you're going to be okay,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes on the stupid handcuffs. 

“You're bleeding,” Peter mumbles, leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder. It takes all of Tony's self-control not to positively melt at the feeling, having craved for it every second since they'd gotten here. 

He clenches his jaw, pushing the fabric in, holding his breath even though he can feel his face going red, and continuously wishing for it to work until, finally, finally, somehow, luckily, there's a soft click and the metal ring splits apart, falling off Peter’s wrist and hitting the floor with a soft thud. 

“Hold still, kid,” Tony mutters, hauling in oxygen for his wailing lungs and gently unhooking the handcuffs from the pipe, taking a deep, guilty breath before locking the open handcuff ring around Peter’s wrist, double locking it so they're both on Peter’s left arm like some kind of bracelets. 

As soon as he's done that, he moves back so he can kneel properly and pulls Peter close, wrapping his arms around his small shoulders, one hand gently cupping the back of his head. 

Peter sobs, his arms sliding around Tony, practically melting into his embrace. 

Tony lasts almost ten seconds before his eyes water as well, pulling Peter closer, terminating the space between them, wanting to just drown in the feeling of his son, of their embrace. He almost can’t believe that it’s actually happening, that this is real and there isn’t some kind of catch.

They move only when Tony winces from the pressure on his wound, Peter then shifting them so Tony is propped up against the wall. “Are you sure you're okay, Mister Stark?”

“I've never been better, Pete,” Tony admits, pulling Peter close to him once again, unable to get enough of his son being alive and in his arms.

Peter lets out a small laugh, burying his face in Tony’s chest and clutching at his shirt, taking large, shaky breaths as if he's trying to physically breathe in Tony. Tony looks down at his son and smiles, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t burst into tears, and just appreciating the immense amount of strength the poor teenager has shown.

The pale red light around them is menacing but Tony doesn’t pay it any heed, instead drinking in the sight of Peter’s small, happy smile. The dark red blood sluggishly seeping out of his abdomen doesn’t look good but the pain is more manageable now and can easily ignore it in favour of Peter’s arms around him. The petulant red flags in his mind trying to tell him that he should be fearful right now are frustrating but he doesn’t give them the attention they want, dismissing them so he can focus solely on gently running his fingers through Peter’s soft, albeit sweaty, hair.

“I’ve got you,” Tony whispers as Peter starts shaking.

He slowly rocks them in a circular motion, intermittently placing soft, fleeting kisses on Peter’s head, each one full of apologies and promises neither of them need to hear out loud to be aware of.

Back and forth, left to right, they don’t stop moving for a second, occasionally shifting so they’re not putting pressure on Peter’s injured feet or Tony’s bleeding wound. Of course, Peter had tried to offer his shirt as a bandage but Tony had vehemently refused, hating the idea of exposing Peter’s scars to the cold room, not wanting to risk anything that could worsen Peter’s condition. 

“Please don’t leave me again,” Peter whimpers, his hands fisting in Tony’s shirt desperately. Truth be told, Tony doesn’t fully understand what he means but he gently shushes Peter and tightens his grip around him, murmuring reassurances. 

Even though he stops blatantly sobbing after a while, Peter doesn’t stop sniffling, round after round after round of tears slipping from his eyes and over his cheeks, dripping onto Tony’s shirt. He can feel the damp patch growing but he doesn’t mind because after all, a crying son he can comfort is far better than a crying son he can’t reach or, worse, no son at all.

Not that Tony’s much better anyway, his tears falling almost as readily as Peter’s. They’re a mess and nothing is perfect but they’re together and they’re hugging and, for the first time since they’d gotten here, they can hope for a way out, a way out for both of them, together. 

“I love you, kid,” Tony admits softly, letting his head rest on top of Peter’s.

Peter goes silent for a second, scaring the life out of Tony, then yawns and looks up groggily, giving Tony a lopsided grin. He stretches a little and settles back down so he’s basically lying in Tony’s lap, their limbs entangled. 

“Mhm... love you too, dad,” Peter breathes, his eyelids fluttering as he yawns again. 

Tony’s heart skips not only a beat, but an entire verse. His vocal chords refuse to work as Peter yawns widely before slipping into an exhausted sleep, curling around Tony and looking akin to a baby koala. 

He clutches onto Peter, his eyes prickling with tears that are made, if one were to disregard science, purely of emotion. There are no words to describe the rush of pride, remorse, happiness, pain, and hope that hits Tony like a tsunami, burying him in conflicted feelings and a renewed determination to protect his kid, his son.

Looking down at his sleeping son, he vows to get Peter out of here as soon as possible, no matter what, even if it kills him, because this has to end and it has to end now; Peter deserves better. 

As Peter's face crumples in his sleep and Tony has to pull him closer as he hums a random melody to get him to calm down, he vows to get Peter back home, where he'll be safe and protected. 

If this is indeed real and he doesn't wake up in cold sweat again, he vows to end this and get Peter back to a place where he can hope and his hopes can come true, rather than be destroyed as he screams for Tony. 

Glaring at the red lights flashing over them, pulling Peter as close as possible, Tony vows to fix everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so there might be typos but I'm just going to post this before I miss her birthday entirely! If you point them out, please be kind! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, leave a kudos or comment?


	9. Conflicting Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um? hi? i'm so sorry, it's been so long. a lot of stuff has gone down and i've been ill and school started up again and there was life problems with some of my friends but hey, i'm back, thank you to people who have kept me going with inquiries and comments and enthusiasm, you guys rock !! <3

It’s a strange thing, Tony thinks, to wake up perfectly at ease only to have the harsh truth dropped on your heavy heart within milliseconds.

He blinks a few times to wake himself up, biting his lip when Peter shifts, letting out a small whine before burrowing his head further into the crook of Tony’s neck as if to seek comfort there.

Tony kisses Peter’s curls and pulls him close, wincing when his handcuffs clash with the movement. He carefully shifts so his weight is evenly distributed and Peter is still comfortable before letting his head rest on the cold wall behind him, running through their limited options in his head.

If they hadn’t been separated again while they were asleep, something serious must have happened, something that means they’re not in any immediate danger of pain right now. That makes Tony’s top priority getting out of the handcuffs so he can get Peter to safety and away from all of this, whatever all of this is.

“Pete?” he whispers ever so softly, nudging his son as gently as he can.

Peter doesn’t stir so Tony pushes his hair away from his closed eyes and carefully pokes his side. “Pete, come on, open your eyes for me,” he murmurs.

With a frustrated groan, Peter blinks his eyes open, freezing immediately but then wrapping his arms around Tony, pulling them closer. The movement irritates the wound in Tony’s side but he says nothing, happy to be able to do this in the first place. 

“Mmm… Mister Stark, is this a dream?” Peter asks quietly, clearly not thinking about what he’s saying. 

It just about breaks Tony’s heart that Peter’s dreams could consist of something so mundane and basic when he deserves to be dreaming high, of being successful and loved and surrounded by those dear to him. 

“No, kid, you’re definitely awake,” Tony replies eventually, kissing his mussed curls, “but we have to get up, okay? Can you stand up for me?” 

With seemingly great reluctance, Peter nods, peeling himself away from Tony and standing upright, wobbling for a few seconds before rolling his shoulders and offering a hand to Tony to help him get up. 

Before all of this - whatever all of this was - Tony would have made a joke about his age or something mundane like that but now, with his body screaming at him to stay down, he just takes Peter’s hand and pulls himself up, surprised at how much strength the teenager is able to use despite being severely malnourished.

“Where are we going?” Peter asks once they're up and stable. 

“I need to find something to pick these cuffs,” Tony replies, ignoring the red lights. “Do you know the way back to the usual room?”

Peter immediately shrinks back, halting, a downright terrified look on his face. “Why do we need to go back?” he asks quietly. 

Tony sighs painfully. “I just don't know where else to get the right tools for me to pick these handcuffs, kid, I'm sorry.” 

There's a small mumble from Peter that Tony takes as something he wasn't meant to hear, so he pretends he hadn't caught any of it, ruffling his son’s hair instead. 

“Can we hurry?” Peter blurts as if there's even the slightest possibility that they'd do anything else. 

Rather than pointing that out, though, Tony just nods, offering Peter a smile, his heart warming up when Peter wraps his arm around Tony’s, clinging to him like a small monkey.

It’s disorientating to see everything drenched in red but Tony doesn’t let that stop him, simply keeping Peter close and guiding them - as well as getting lost a handful of times - back to the room they’ve spent the most time in. 

Peter goes so quiet, even his breathing can barely be heard, as soon as they walk in, so Tony wastes no time, rooting around on the table he’d never noticed in their regular lighting, trying to find something sharp enough.

“Mister Stark, here,” Peter mumbles, handing Tony something that looks like an elongated needle. He hates to imagine what that would have been used for, dismissing the theories and instead detangling from Peter, murmuring a quick “thank you” and quickly picking the locks on the handcuffs. 

He’s Tony Stark, of course he knows how to pick a lock, he’s been in this situation before. Soon enough, his hands are free and his heart is a little lighter, the only difference between this time and all the others being his son’s presence. 

Once his hands are free of their metal prison, the first thing he does is wrap them around Peter, pulling him closer, breathing in his scent - somehow, even the combination of metal and sweat and peculiar soap is comforting to him right now - and running a hand through his mussed hair.

Peter’s fists curl around the fabric of his shirt, his fingers cold and small. Unfortunately, this makes his shirt ride up and irritates the wound on his side, making him gasp, his knees buckling without his permission. Embarrassingly, he all but falls onto Peter, having to take a moment to steady himself, his vision darkening for far too long. 

“Mister Stark? Are you going to be okay?” Peter’s voice is shaky again, full of unfiltered fear. 

“I’m fine, Petey, I’m fine,” Tony mutters, although he can’t tell if he’s trying to convince his son or his extrapolating mind. 

“Come on, we can’t stay here,” he says eventually, taking Peter’s cold hand, rubbing circles on the soft skin with his thumb as they start to walk, heading back to the corridor flooded with red. 

Peter stays quiet and when his stomach rumbles painfully, neither of them mention it, knowing there’s no point in talking about food when they aren’t anywhere close to any. Instead, they focus on trying not to double back, taking both left and right turns, evening out their journey and hoping they’re not walking into a trap.

After a while, Peter speaks up. “You were shot before.”

It takes all of Tony’s willpower not to stop and simply stand still in shock, taking a second to renew their walking pace before nodding slowly in acknowledgement. “When?” 

“Uh, pretty early on,” Peter replies, and Tony can almost see the way he bites his lip to consider what he can or can’t say. “It was- you tried to, um- well, you got into a fight about painkillers.”

Tony frowns, trying to make sense of this. “Painkillers? Was this in that shower room?” he asks, pushing Peter back as he hears someone approaching. 

Peter waits until the footsteps have receded before nodding. “Yeah. You didn’t remember the rules so, when I fell, you- you pulled me up and then… I don’t know, one second you were arguing and the next, there was, uh, b- blood everywhere,” Peter manages before throwing his arms around Tony again, sniffling softly. 

“Oh, Peter…” Tony has nothing else to say, he doesn’t even care where he was shot and why he can’t feel it, he just wants Peter to save his tears for joyous occasions, not painful retellings, so he pulls him closer and lets him shake, gently murmuring soothing words until he calms down enough to pull back with a strained smile.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“Nuh-uh, none of that, kid,” Tony interjects, wiping the stray tear under Peter’s eye. “You’re doing better than I am so don’t give up now, okay?” 

Peter nods solemnly, squeezing Tony’s hand carefully, schooling courage into his expression. Tony can’t actually do anything to help him without risking one of them falling unconscious so he just takes Peter’s hand again, lacing their fingers together for further reassurance and pulling him along, the two of them simply trying to get away, get away from everything and anything this place has to - forcefully - offer. 

Seconds pass and minutes go by in silence, neither of them having much energy to say anything, too worried about looking out for the men who want to hurt them to form coherent sentences. 

“Mister Stark?” Peter asks again, his voice croaky.

“Yeah?” Tony replies immediately, then winces at how blunt his voice sounds. “You’re not about to tell me that I was shot twice, are you?”

He doesn’t get a reply for a whole minute, he counts it out, of course, but then Peter just quickly blurts: “Do you really not care for me?” 

The red blood cells in Tony’s body morph into lead as he hears those and he forgets to breathe, his feet halting and his heart missing an entire song’s worth of beats. 

“What?” he breathes eventually, turning back to Peter with incredulous horror. 

Peter curls into himself, shrugging casually, as if he hadn’t just broken Tony’s heart with seven small words. 

“They said… they said you chose- chose to, um, forget because you didn’t care about the memories…” 

Those absolute-

Tony exhales aggressively, putting both hands in front of his face for a second before prying his eyes open again and looking directly at Peter.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, I solemnly swear to you that I would never, never, willingly forget anything about you, especially not the memories we share, no matter how painful they are to remember. I would- I would do anything other than that because… well, kid, because I care about you more than I can explain and it would probably tear my soul in half to do such a thing, do you understand?” 

Peter looks halfway between overwhelmed and overjoyed. Either way, he lets out a choked sob, biting his lip to keep it inside, and falls into a hug, pressing his face into Tony’s chest as if it were an oxygen mask. 

Using their embrace as a shield, Tony lets the tears fall from his own eyes, letting them fall into Peter’s sweaty curls, letting them slip over his skin as if they’re nothing more than fleeting reminders of bad times, when in fact they’re so much more, full of agony and regret and wishes to make things right. 

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” Tony whispers slowly, swallowing heavily. 

Peter just shakes his head, hauling in a breath and pulling back ever so slightly. “I’m sorry I doubted you.” 

You wouldn’t be the first to, Tony thinks, but you would be the first to apologise for it. 

Of course, he doesn’t say that aloud, cupping Peter’s cheeks, brushing his tears away with the softest parts of his calloused thumbs and placing a quick, soft kiss on his forehead. “It’s okay, it’s always okay, everything will be okay,” he promises, meaning it, wishing he could fulfil that right this second. 

“You read Harry Potter?” Peter asks after a while, smiling weakly but smiling all the same.

Tony emits an odd sound, a mixture of a laugh and a sob. Regardless, he nods quickly, taking a deep breath. “Of course I did, you told me you wanted my thoughts on it.”

The shine in Peter’s eyes is honestly brighter than the pain in Tony’s side. 

And, forget the ever-growing stabbing pain in his side, Tony talks about ludicrous school rules, the potential joy of connecting with a sentient stick, unpredictable plot twists, and character potentials that should have been expanded on until his throat goes dry and they reach a bolted door with sunlight streaming through the edges. 

Peter lets go of his hand, running up to the door, apparently having temporarily forgotten what precaution is. As it is, he’s thrown backwards as soon as he touches the door, a sharp electric sound ringing in their eyes as he crashes into Tony and sends them both tumbling to the floor. 

“Peter, are you okay?” Tony asks without missing a beat, scrambling to sit up and push Peter’s hair back, already grabbing his wrist to check his pulse.

Peter groans but nods, blinking furiously. “That was stupid, wasn’t it?”

Smiling a little, Tony shakes his head. “It’s okay, I would have done the same.”

Peter looks dubious but offers Tony a sheepish grin, pulling him up, both of them frowning at this door that seems to promise the outdoors and a relieving freedom but also poses a challenge that neither of them has any energy to complete.

Tony glances over the bolts, hating the fact that their design seems to strike a chord in his memory. “Kid, did they mention any other names? If I just knew who built these, I could…”

Kneeling beside where Tony had subconsciously crouched down to inspect the door, Peter hums vaguely. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I think they mentioned something about hiding? And hammers? And maybe helmets? There was too much, I’m sorry, I-”

Tony looks back at Peter and cups his face with his hands, shaking his head again. “It’s okay, Peter, it’s okay. You’ve done great, thank you.” After a second, he adds: “And, actually, I think I have enough to work with there…” 

He turns back to the door and, with a heavy heart and hope taking the place of oxygen in his lungs, presses himself to the frame of the door, the arc reactor hitting one of the bolts dead centre. 

He hears Peter scream but he just clenches his teeth and ignores it, keeping himself steady, willing this to work, hoping he’d guessed right and not just abandoned his son in the middle of a torture facility.

“Mister Stark, please!” Peter all but wails behind him, not touching him, probably in fear of the electricity zooming over his skin, around his arms and neck and torso.

It hurts, it hurts so much, too much, but Tony pushes himself to stay still, his muscles screaming at him to stop, his eyes squeezing shut to brace himself, his fingers curling into fists, and steady groans of pain pitifully escaping through his lips. 

It hurts, it hurts so much, too much, but it works.

It hurts, it hurts so much, too much, and, eventually, there’s a distinct clicking noise followed by crackling explosions that result in a quiet silence filled only with Tony’s heavy breathing and Peter’s pained sobs.

Something sparks in front of him and Tony collapses backwards, suddenly met with a perfect view of cracking, peeling paint. 

“Mister Stark?” Peter asks, appearing in his vision, his teary eyes full of both unfiltered terror and an entire ocean’s worth of hopeful relief.

Tony just nods breathlessly, finding one of Peter’s hands and holding on as tightly as he can, smiling faintly when Peter squeezes his fingers, taking in huge, shuddering breaths. “I’m ‘kay…” he breathes. 

“You should have just used ‘alohomora',” Peter mumbles, emitting a hysterical sob.

Tony laughs, winces at the pain, and then slowly, agonisingly, pulls himself up, leaning on his arms and glancing over the door that seems ready to topple, glad that his educated - and mostly desperate - guess had worked.

“How’s about we try to leave?” Tony manages, knowing he must look somewhat akin to a ghoul, his eyes burning and his skin clammy, even to himself.

Peter nods, hauling him up, staggering a little but them manoeuvring them to the door, both of them grabbing the handle, Tony first so he could check it was safe, of course, and heaving with all the might they have left.

After sucking the strength out of their muscles, the door groans and creaks and kind of screams but slowly, surely, starts to open, bright light spilling over them like water through cracks in glass. It almost hurts to realise Tony had forgotten what natural light looked like.

“Can we really go?” Peter asks, both of them giving up on pulling the door any further than it has to go to accommodate the two of them.

“I hope so, Pete,” Tony replies, taking in as deep as a breath as he can - not very deep - and stepping forwards, hesitating, waiting for traps, before turning sideways and slipping through the door, then allowing Peter to do the same, their hands still clasped as if the world would end if they let go of each other.

Nothing happens.

Nothing in the blissful sense, in that there’s no sudden piercing alarms or guns aimed at them or any sort of visible consequence at all. Nothing happens and it’s the best thing that’s happened to either of them since they were able to hug. 

Which, of course, they do. Tony immediately pulls Peter in, crushing them together, not caring that they aren’t in some fresh, summer meadow but a rather dismal type of alleyway covered in snow, simply relishing in the feeling of being able to be with his son still.

Tony genuinely doesn’t know where to go from here - he hadn’t even expected to get this far, if he’s honest - and none of his plans seem to account for avoiding hypothermia and malnutrition but he can’t bring himself to complain, his head struggling to accept that this is actually happening at all.

Just when Peter pulls back to meet his gaze and they share a strained smile, finally able to breathe a little more freely, the whole world goes black.

And then white.

And then blue and red and gold and Tony must be hallucinating because there’s no way he’s seeing Peter in his spiderman suit standing next to Tony’s own suit right now, is there?

Someone’s shouting what seem like orders but it sounds like they’re underwater - or is that just him? - and someone else is shaking his shoulders as it dawns on him that he’s lying on the cold, unmerciful ground now, but he can’t move at all, catching a glimpse of Peter’s fearfully worried but no less hopeful smile before his eyelids get too heavy and he succumbs to the blissful darkness of unconsciousness. 

He just hopes he doesn’t wake to the feeling of metal restraints again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, it's rather anti-climatic and messy, but i know if i don't post it now, it'll get super delayed. i'll try to update again soon but no promises. thank you again if you read so far, this is my most popular fic now? 13k hits? i'm shook? i love you guys so much <3
> 
> my friend is still in a really hard position so if you can donate and help her at all, let me know and we'll give you a fic x
> 
> thanks for reading! leave a kudos or comment?


	10. Langour And Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, i am so so so so sorry for being awol almost three months but literally everything got in the way of me posting this, you don't want to hear my drama so I'll just say thank you all for your lovely comments and enthusiasm, they genuinely made my day and inspired me!! i love you guys so much, i tried to make this chapter as fluffy as possible and a little longer than usual for you !! 
> 
> ps. ignore the terribly basic title and pls be kind with pointing out typos, i just really wanted to get this posted !! (not that you had a choice oops but) thank you for waiting and sorry again, hope this anti-whump helps make up for it <3

More salt, more pepper, make the dishes even better. 

That's the only thing that runs through Peter's head as he kneels beside Tony protectively, one of his hands clasped around Tony's and the other lifted to shield his eyes from the brightness. 

The brightness that seems to have injured his- well, his… dad. 

The brightness that seems to be in the shape of a person, a person in a suit, in a suit scarily similar to the iron man suit. 

It takes him an awfully long time to figure out that the reason for that phrase running through his head is because he'd subconsciously tried to recognise the person standing above them. 

He offers her a distressed smile. “Miss Potts?”

There's a pause and then a layered click, after which the mask retracts and familiar, concerned blue eyes come into view, looking over the two of them with horror and relief and anger. 

“Just Pepper, Peter,” she says, a smile fleetingly gracing her features.

Below him, Tony's hand twitches, his grip on Peter's fingers strengthening before becoming almost completely lax. 

“Miss Potts, please, help him- he- please?” Peter manages, panic running through his veins as if it were a part of his biology. 

He can't lose Mr Stark again, he can't, it might just kill him for certain this time. Without Mister Stark, he might have ticked one of their - whoever they really were - checkboxes and actually forgot what love felt like. But now he's absolutely certain Mister Stark would never, never allow that to happen.

“I'm going to help you both, okay? Just keep being brave for a little longer, Peter, I'm so proud of you for getting this far…”

She drops to one knee, gently lifting and propping Tony against herself, pushing his unkempt hair back with a soft, remorseful smile. “I'm going to fire him if he dies,” she murmurs, planting the world's lightest kiss on his forehead. 

Despite everything, Peter chuckles slightly, taking a deep breath and wincing when it brings about a dull ache.

Pepper glances at him sharply. “Hey, how do you feel?”

That throws him off. He'd expected the typical ‘are you okay?’ but of course, he should have expected that Pepper would know better than that. 

“Like I could sleep for a month,” Peter replies slowly, his eyes watering as he looks at Tony's alarmingly pale face again. 

Nodding solemnly, Pepper positions her hands under Tony and gracefully stands up with him in her arms, bridal style, sending a loving smile to Peter. “Hold on.”

“How?” he asks, a large part of him still fearful of orders and firm voices. 

Pepper thinks for a second before offering him a small smile and nodding her head to the left. “Not to me, to him.”

Him? Peter can't think of anyone else who'd risk their life to save him, he can't even be sure if Miss Potts had come for him or just Mister Stark. 

Still wondering if he'd heard wrong or not, he turns around to see an incredibly familiar head of smooth, floppy brown hair.

His mouth falls open. 

“I'm your guy in the suit now,” Ned says solemnly, but genuine, childish excitement leaks into his voice nonetheless. 

Peter could cry. 

So he does. 

He just melts; he'd forgotten about friends and family and school and life in general because he'd been so tired and pained and powerless and he doesn't know if he should be guilty or not. 

“Whoa!” Ned exclaims, catching him just before his knees slam onto the floor, holding him up, his arms still warm and comforting despite being covered in armour. 

All it takes is Ned to lift him up and steady him for Peter to absolutely dissolve, dissolve into his best friend's arms, dissolve into the reassurance that he's no longer alone, and dissolve into the protection he seems to promise. 

“We've got you,” Ned tells him softly, simply letting Peter wrap his arms around his neck and cling to him like a makeshift koala. 

“Ready, boys?” Pepper inquires, a glow appearing under her feet and she prepares to take off. 

Peter's mind yawns with fatigue but he summons enough energy to wrap his legs around Ned's middle, disregarding any kind of reputation whatsoever, sighing happily when Ned just chuckles and puts his arms around Peter's back to stabilise him. 

“Up, up, and away!” Ned whisper-shouts, tightening his grip on Peter before they both start vibrating slightly with the force of the thrusters. 

Peter blinks but he must succumb to unconsciousness because the next time his eyes open, he can taste the clouds around them. 

He doesn't remember blinking but then the oceans are smiling at him with sympathy and there's a tiny arch of yellow on the horizon. 

Moments later, Ned is whispering the periodic table to him, his brain whispering along, fighting to remember which element comes after which. 

He wakes again to the sound of a horn beeping, the familiar scent of metal and pollution filling his lungs. 

The last time he awakes is to the jolt of Ned landing on the floor once more. On instinct, he clings on tighter, letting his eyes fall shut again, the heat on his eyelids becoming less intense as he does. 

“Peter?” 

He groans quietly, wanting to stay in his realm of silence, safety, and inactivity. 

“C'mon, Peter, you can't ignore me just because I'm not driving you anywhere right now.”

Happy...

What? Does he want to be happy? How can he be happy if he doesn't know whether or not Mister Stark is okay? 

Peter's mind takes a moment to realise the connection before he can force himself to pry his eyelids open and blink, slowly, then more rapidly when everything appears blurry. 

“There you go! Now all we need is a steady stream of academic babbling.”

Peter chuckles lightly, groans when the action sends a bolt of pain through his chest, and coughs, his throat feeling worse than a cactus with sunburn. 

“Oh my- okay, Peter! Hey, honey, breathe slowly for me, come on, nice and steady…”

Her voice is tuned out but her instructions aren't and, soon enough, he can breathe almost regularly, his lungs breathing a sigh of relief.

“Are you in pain?” Pepper asks gently. 

Surprisingly, no. 

He definitely doesn't say that aloud but she figures out his answer anyway and nods kindly, placing one of her warm hands on top of his slightly numb one. 

“Do you think you can sit up?” She asks slowly, glancing at Happy for a millisecond. 

Despite his aching limbs, Peter pushes himself to nod, trying his best to squeeze her hand to prove his point. 

He fails but it's okay because the two of them move to either side of him and gently, ever so gently pull him upright so he can lean on the pillows propped up behind him. 

“Thank you,” Peter mumbles as he sinks into the comfort of cool, clinical warmth. 

Pepper smiles at him, a foreign emotion shining in her eyes as she sits on the chair to his left. “Tony's stable, in case you were wondering.”

Happy shakes his head in what, on anyone else, might be called fondness. Somehow, he manages to make it seem comical, Peter and Pepper exchanging a knowing smile as he stands.

“I'll go and tell him you're awake, yeah?” Happy asks, except not really as a question. 

Peter's eyes widen as his heart fills with hope and excitement. “He's okay?”

Pepper nudges him carefully. “You really think he'd give up after everything?”

He doesn't tell Pepper that he was close to giving up at some points, instead offering a small smile and shifting so he's sat up straighter. “Can I see him?”

Her smile widens before it drops a little. “I don't know, honey, neither of you seem healthy enough to get up and walk around… But I'll see what I can do, okay?”

Peter doesn't care, he doesn't care that he can barely move his lips to form the words and that he's painfully aware of what's definitely going to be a scar on his chest. Mister Stark has the ability to make everything seem so much better and all Peter wants to do is find him and hug him and let the rest of the world melt away. 

Apparently, he does the latter before he's ready to because the next time he's even remotely aware of anything is when there's a gentle hand in his curls and a soft humming in the air.

“Mister Stark?” Peter mumbles groggily, trying to prise his eyes open, getting halfway there before he realises he just can't make himself. 

It's just about an understatement to say he panics. 

“Why can't I open my eyes?” he asks, the tremble in his voice betraying his internal desperation. 

Immediately, the hand in his hair tightens it's grip slightly, not painfully but rather, with a soft possessiveness. 

“It's okay, kid, you're okay, we're safe,” the most reassuring voice in the world whispers, “You can open your eyes, don't worry, just focus on them, yeah? And concentrate on opening them…”

He tries harder than he's tried anything else in his entire life and slowly, slowly, it feels as if someone is lifting the heavy weights off of his eyelids. 

It takes an agonising few minutes but he eventually opens his eyes, blinking sluggishly and trying to clear away the blurriness of the world around him. 

Thankfully, it works, and Tony's kind, soft, utterly proud look is the first thing he notices. 

“Why are you proud of me?” Peter asks, tilting his head to the left ever so slightly. 

The reply he gets is a gentle smile. “Really, kid, you don't think I'll be proud of you for being so courageous and strong? You don't think I'll be proud of you for try- for protecting me, even though I wish you'd protected yourself more? You don't think I'll be proud that you held on for so long and didn't give up on yourself, on me, or on life?”

He stops then, clearing his throat to shake the raspiness from his voice, but then ruffles Peter's curls affectionately. “I've never been more proud of anyone in my life than I am of you.”

Peter realises the reason he can't see properly anymore is that tears have arisen in his eyes and he's almost crying again.

And now it's Tony's turn to panic. 

“What? What is it? What hurts? Hey, Pete, what’s wrong?”

Peter just shakes his head, grabbing Tony’s hand and squeezing softly. “Nothing…”

“Are you sure? You can be honest with me,” Tony replies, obviously unconvinced. 

Sucking in a shaky breath, Peter shuffles and shimmies and sits up, gasping a little as his chest sends out a sharp spike of pain, then looks over to Tony again. “Mister Stark, I promise that I’m okay, really. I’ve never been more okay in my life.”

Tony smiles widely, relieved. “Do you want to see your friend then? 

“Ned?” Peter asks, almost but not really shocked, “Is he still here?”

Chuckling, Tony nods. “He refused to leave, Happy had to make something up for his mother. He stole my suit, you know?”

Peter smiles. “Yeah, I know.”

Tony gives him an odd look but lets it go, leaning forwards and planting a small kiss on Peter’s forehead, then ruffling his hair again. “I love you, kid, don’t ever let anyone make you forget that.” 

Peter just nods, a thick, emotional lump in his throat. He lets his eyes shut for a moment, savouring the peaceful atmosphere. When he opens them again, Tony is subtly wiping his eye, clearing his own throat; he pretends not to notice. 

“Who were they?” Peter blurts without thinking, biting his lip guiltily when he sees Tony’s eyes darken ever so slightly. 

Eventually, Tony just sighs. “I can’t figure that one out yet. I’ve tried, I’ve gone over everything I can remember but I need to look at my files and… the small clues they gave might have all been fake because there’s no way they’re all connected. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Peter says immediately, offering him a small smile. It’s not by any means a good smile but he hopes it helps even a little because he can’t stand the idea of Mister Stark being worried or upset right now. 

As soon as Tony gives him a look that practically screams fondness, he accepts that the feeling might just definitely be mutual. 

He doesn’t know how but, when Pepper walks in, he’s sitting propped up against Tony’s chest, tucked under his arm like a small bird under its mother’s wing. He’s never been more comfortable in his life and, without meaning to, he shuffles a little closer to the warmth of Tony’s chest as soon as she starts talking, as if that will help him avoid having to move or carry out mundane activities. 

“The doctors, they need to assess Peter again before he can leave…” Pepper tells Tony as calmly as she can, already wondering if there’s any way for them to stay together. 

Peter makes a small noise of protest, tightening his grip on Tony and shutting his eyes. 

Tony glances down at him and gives Pepper an essay-filled look, one that she clearly deciphers due to years of having done so. She leaves again to give the doctor an ultimatum, but not before quickly taking a picture of the two despite Tony’s half-hearted glare. 

Pulling his kid closer, Tony swallows his guilt and lets his eyes close, wishing that they can have more time like this, where neither of them has any injuries or troubles. 

Apparently, cuddling on a moderately comfortable hospital bed in a reasonably warm room is the perfect combination for an unplanned nap. He regains consciousness when someone - Pepper, judging by the light touch - shakes his shoulder, obviously hiding a laugh.

“What’s happened?” he asks, blinking away his sleepiness.

“Nothing, they checked you both over while you were asleep thanks to your technology, but they need to make sure Peter can walk before he’s allowed to leave,” she informs him. 

Scoffing, Tony sits up a little, ignoring the pins and needles down his entire left side from Peter clinging to him as if he physically can’t let go. “He doesn’t need to walk.”

Pepper raises a perfect eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“I’m carrying him,” Tony answers smugly.

Pepper opens her mouth to argue but a swift glance at Peter changes her mind and she instead bends down to kiss Tony’s forehead. “Take care of yourself, please.”

“Or what, you’ll fire me?”

The look on her face makes him freeze and the small laugh dies in his throat, replaced by concern as he gently takes her hand, letting his lips brush her fingers. “What is it?” he asks, referring to the remorseful, shadowed look on her face.

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing, I just- you reminded me of something. I’m just glad you look more alive now.” 

After a split second, she adds: “Are you sure you’ll be able to carry him?” 

Tony looks down at Peter, who’s currently stirring, and nods determinedly. “Of course. And anyway, I don’t have much choice. The kid sticks like glue.” 

Chuckling, Pepper nods, squeezing Tony’s hand in encouragement just as Peter jerks upright, his eyes wide and full of fear as he looks to Tony. “What happened?”

Tony wraps both arms around him, shaking his head. “Nothing, we fell asleep. Don’t worry, we’re still safe.”

It takes Peter a lot longer than normal to remember what had happened, after which he groans and melts into Tony’s touch, using one hand to rub the sleep from his eyes as he yawns. When he spots Pepper watching them, he grins sheepishly and sends her a small wave.

“Good morning, Peter.” Pepper beams.

“Is it?” Peter asks, his internal body clock completely confused and utterly useless. 

Tony pulls them apart, only enough to look him in the eyes before shrugging casually. “As long as it’s good, the rest doesn’t really matter, right?” 

It sounds logical to Peter so he nods slowly, a genuine smile on his face as he looks between the two adults, never having felt safer in his life, the fragments of terror that had latched onto his mind from his bad dream fading away like temporary dye. 

“Where are we again?” Peter asks, not recognising the room’s style and thus not being able to tell even which part of the world they’re in, never mind which hospital or whatever it is.

Tony grins at that, a plan clearly forming in his mind even if it’s not obvious to anyone else. Peter chooses to let it remain a mystery for now and just tilts his head questioningly, to which Tony winks.

“You’re going to love it here, kid, you really are. After a few days’ rest, you can tour the entire place and let your nerd go wild, I promise.”

Peter only really listens to half of what he’s saying. “You’ll be there, right?” 

The doubt builds up inside of him within milliseconds and it’s like the bathrooms all over again but Tony nods faster than he can panic so he lets himself breathe. 

“Of course, as if I would miss out on seeing your shock!” Tony says it as if it’s a joke but all three of them know he genuinely means it and that’s actually enough of a reason for him to do anything and usually everything with Peter.

Before anyone can reveal anything else about where they actually are, Peter’s stomach grumbles, loud and impatient and impossible to ignore. He groans, letting his head fall onto Tony’s shoulder as Pepper laughs quietly.

“I think you boys need some actual nourishment now,” she says, but it’s practically an order and they know they have no choice but to actually get up and consume real food. 

“Can’t we eat here?” Peter asks, his voice small but his worry larger than his hunger. 

He only realises he’s attached himself to Tony like a koala covered in superglue when Tony lets out a small ‘oof’ and wraps an arm around him to keep them both steady. He almost lets go but his desire to stay with someone he knows he can trust is much stronger than his regret. 

“I think you probably can,” Pepper winks, giving Tony a look before once again leaving the two of them alone together. 

Tony turns to Peter as soon as she’s gone, swallowing hard. “You know I’m not leaving, right? No matter what, I won’t go anywhere if you let go of me.” 

“I know,” Peter mumbles, even though he isn’t sure if he does. Some part of his brain clearly does but his limbs to be following the part of his brain that doesn’t seem to because he can’t bring himself to let go. 

“Just checking,” Tony murmurs, kissing Peter’s temple before sliding back a bit so they can lean on the headboard and sit upright. Peter manages to slowly unravel himself from Tony just enough to keep an arm free so he can eat something, but he’s still pressed as close to him as he can manage, preferring that they have as little distance between them as possible. 

As it is, Pepper brings back sandwiches, which they both manage to eat with only hand. Peter had almost forgotten the taste of bread and he finds himself hating the idea of that because he’s never tasted anything so nice in all his life. And yeah, sure, the filling is nice too, but he just loves how the bread feels so solid and real and like it’s going to help him rather than get his hopes up only to stamp on them as it betrays him and everything it stands for. 

“Slow down, Peter, we have all day,” Tony whispers after a while. As if on cue, Peter hiccups, having been eating his first meal in what feels like eternity way too fast. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, taking a deep breath before slowing down a little, controlling his chewing as best as he can - which isn’t very well but at least he’s trying. 

The sandwiches seem to be endless and they both eat until the very idea of eating anything more makes them feel a little queasy. 

“We should probably get up now, kid,” Tony admits, but Pepper shakes her head.

“Don’t bother, it’s a bit late for there to be any point and there are no shortages of rooms here. You can just go back to sleep.”

Nothing’s ever sounded better. Peter nods, falling back onto Tony, both literally and otherwise. He lets himself curl around Tony, not caring about anything else and simply letting his eyes close again, focusing on the feeling of being next to another person, one of his favourite people ever. 

“Aunt May!” he blurts abruptly, his eyes flying open, glancing up at Tony in wild concern. 

Tony licks his lips to get rid of any crumbs before nodding. “Don’t worry, Peter, she knows you got hurt but we didn’t tell her any of the details, she’s happy to let you rest and recover. But she does want to see you before the month is up or else I’ll rue the day I was born, or something like that.”

Peter chuckles, smiling to himself. “That sounds about right.” 

He opens his mouth again but Tony beats him to it, continuing: “And your hacker friend is happy to wait a little longer as well, he’s currently enjoying experimenting with the technology here. Don’t worry about him.”

Nodding yet again, Peter settles back down, suddenly tired and drained. Which makes no sense because he could have sworn he’d just gotten up, but he doesn’t let that deter him from just staying still, from choosing to stay still instead of being forced to and simply letting himself exist without any immediate tension. 

“Just let yourself sleep,” Tony advises, pulling the blanket up over Peter’s shoulders and tucking it around him so he’s surrounded by warmth and comfort and safety. 

He does.

He’s dimly aware of Tony and Pepper having a conversation in hushed tones but he lets it slide over his head - something that he’s rarely and overjoyed to be able to do - and slips into unconsciousness. 

Everything’s calm and quiet and peaceful.

But then it isn’t because there’s red everywhere and he can’t tell if it’s the lights or blood and he can’t figure out where Mister Stark went and he knows it’s literally not possible for anything to be behind him but he can’t shake the feeling of being watched. And when he turns around to check, his feet start to ache, the pain growing so rapidly that he falls to his knees, a silent cry spilling over his lips as the sound of metal hitting metal echoes around him and the scent of danger floating in the air above him, looming over him and darkening everything. 

A voice barks something in a language he can’t recognise.

He flinches but he can’t move because he’s now lying down and before he can panic whilst trying to figure out how that happened, there’s a burning on skin and a malicious whisper at the nape of his neck but it’s not from a person, it’s deeper and rougher and more metallic, and then he can’t see anything and there’s something crawling all over his skin, it might be spiders or it might be agony, he can’t tell, he can’t make anything out, he’s lost in a cloud of uncertainty and it’s seeping into his bones and the world might just be ending.

“Peter!”

He gasps, his eyes flying open as his heart makes itself aware by beating so loudly and so quickly he temporarily forgets who he is. 

“Peter?”

Light fills his vision as he finally blinks and oxygen rushes into his lungs as he looks up to see his dad staring at him with both comfort and concern in his eyes.

“You with me?” 

Peter nods slowly, copying his dad’s breathing because his voice is soft and real and trustworthy, staring into his eyes and focusing his attention on the way they’re right next to each other and he’s the furthest thing from alone.

“-st like that, that’s perfect, you’re amazing, kid. Keep going, you’re alright, you’re safe now.”

It must have taken longer than he’d realised because, by the time he accepts the incessant stream of words being murmured to him, the voice has become a little more hoarse, even though it’s still filled with love and promise and reassurance. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles quietly, wrapping his arms around Tony and sniffling a little.

“You don’t have to be,” Tony replies without missing a beat, running a hand through Peter’s curls as the other draws meaningless patterns on his back that immensely help to calm him down. 

Peter nods to himself, exiling his apologies and letting himself smile a little. “I love you.”

A strange noise escapes Tony’s throat before he lets out half a laugh and half a sob, both of them knowing he wants to say it back and pretending he has because they know he can’t at the moment.

Peter clings to Tony with no regrets. Logic says that the closer he is to Mister Stark, the further away that awful feeling of being trapped and unable to do anything goes.

“We’re staying here, right?” he asks, still a little bit confused.

“For as long as you want, I promise,” Tony replies, his voice wavering only a little. 

“Thank you,” Peter mumbles, his brain deciding no further action is required now that he’s safe.

When he slips back into sleep is beyond his knowledge but when he stirs a while later, he’s back in a small fort of blankets, soft snores drifting from Tony as a soft grey tint takes over the curtains and tells him the deepest part of the night is over.

Morning arrives pleasantly for once, not filled with urgent deadlines and alarms but rather with reminders of how safe and loved he is, and the promise of a day better than his night. 

Tony yawns loudly as Peter blinks himself awake, both of them sharing a relieved look after they glance at the stubborn yellow glow radiating from the curtains. It seems to fill the room with a soft kind of determination, the kind that makes them want to get up and move on rather than stay where they are and hide from the world. 

“Good morning, Pete.” Tony smiles, kissing the top of his head.

Peter grins at that, nodding. “Yeah, I think it is.” 

“Should we go and find the others?” Tony asks, his eyes shining with what seems to be happiness, only slightly less carefree.

“Find them?” Peter asks, frowning, “Do we have to get up for that?”

Tony ruffles his hair, chuckling. “Yeah, that’s kind of the first step, kid. But don’t worry, you don’t have to let go of me at all.”

Peter gasps, his frown melting away faster than it had arrived. “Piggy back ride?”

“Ten points for Peter!” Tony winks, then going to stand up.

He stays near the edge of the bed so Peter can just slightly move and wrap himself around Tony, neither of them particularly bothered about reputation and the like right now, the two of them wobbling slightly before Tony stabilises himself and Peter can settle properly. 

True to his promise to Pepper the day before, Tony carried Peter all the way to the room he knows she and Happy will be in because they always get up earlier than this and eat breakfast together so they can complain about him. They also usually then pretend not to know anything when he joins them but that’s something he can only work towards right now, something he can use to keep himself motivated. 

Peter knocks on the door when they get there, Tony too busy keeping his son in place and soothing any worries that dare to arise in his mind. Within seconds, Pepper’s at the door with an anxious expression, an expression that fades to amusement and bewilderment with a hint of fondness as soon as she sees them.

“Tony?” she asks, as if it wasn’t glaringly obvious.

“Good morning, Miss Potts!” Peter says brightly, lifting one hand to wave.

“Just Pepper, honey,” Pepper replies on autopilot, then her eyes widen and she pulls them inside. “What are you doing walking about? We would have come to you, you know that!”

Tony just scoffs. “What’s the fun in that?”

At this point, Happy stands up. “Sir, with all due respect, you could have eased yourself back into it.” 

Tony gives him a pointed look. “Can’t you just be  _ happy _ for me?” 

Peter giggles, which causes the mildly offended retort on Happy’s lips to die down. Even Pepper smiles at the sound, which in turn causes Tony to beam, the tension in the room vanishing easily. 

“So, what’s for breakfast?” Tony asks, looking around as if said meal will fall from the ceiling at any moment.

“Mhm, I’m kinda hungry too,” Peter mumbles, mostly into Tony’s hair, but he mumbles it all the same; Tony practically smiles his face off with relief and joy. 

Happy starts moving as soon as Pepper gives him a look, calling over his shoulder: “Just to make sure nothing goes wrong, it’s good old buttered toast.” 

“Can’t we have jam?” Tony whines as if he’s the one currently clinging onto someone’s back. 

Pepper glares at him, without any real malice, of course. “Tony, you can sit yourself down and eat the breakfast made for you or you can be fired.”

Peter giggles again. “I don’t get this joke, surely you can’t fire each other?” 

Happy gives Peter a knowing look, which is naturally accompanied by his signature frown. “Get used to it, Peter, they’ll never stop.” 

Tony rolls his eyes but settles down on the little sofa nonetheless, Peter sliding down to sit beside him and nestling himself into Tony’s side once more, his stomach rumbling as he catches sight of the toast.

It doesn’t take long for them to dig in after that, both of them simply glad to be alive and mostly healthy and with one another. Of course, Peter can’t stay attached to Tony forever and that might need to be addressed soon but for now, Tony’s more than happy to let him have this little bit of happiness because he deserves it.

And anyway, the main focus is that buttered toast has never tasted better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really do appreciate you guys and the way you make me happy !! like almost 16k hits ?? i can't even !! almost 1k kudos ?? that's a dream. over a hundred bookmarks and double that in comments ?? i'm love y'all. thank you so very much <3
> 
> so much has happened, new marvel films have been planned (endgame will ruin me), stan lee became legend (he lives on), spiderverse came out (the BEST film honestly), and 2018 is basically over !! happy new year, y'all, idk what time zones you are but i hope this gives you at least one smile at the start of 2019 !! much love to everyone <3<3<3
> 
> this is gonna be the last thing i post this year so best wishes and see you all next year :) peace out xxx
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Different Kinds of Torture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15719652) by [Trekkiehood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekkiehood/pseuds/Trekkiehood)




End file.
